Love, Like Ghosts
by stangerine88
Summary: In-depth summary inside. Harry/Dave, slash. Following the events of the end of the war, all Hogwarts students are relocated to various muggle schools throughout the world to gain a better appreciation for muggle culture. Harry is sent to Lima, Ohio.
1. Part One

**Love, Like Ghosts: A Glee/Harry Potter Crossover**

Pairing: Harry Potter/Dave Karofsky (as well as canon Finn/Rachel, Kurt/Blaine, Sam/Mercedes, Tina/Mike and maybe some hints of Brittany/Santana) I also totally support a Harry-Blaine friendship.

Summary: Pushing for change and left with their ruins of their only magic-based school, the Ministry of Magic passes a law that forces each Hogwarts student still awaiting graduation to spend one year attending a muggle school. Harry finds himself relocated to Lima, Ohio- where the football coach is a former-Auror, the cheerleading coach is absolutely certifiable and blatant discrimination and prejudices thrive in the cut-throat world of high school.

It's there, nestled in the pool of hatred and pettiness that Harry finds Mr. Shuester's Glee Club and finds himself with the dubious task of navigating their tumultuous web of friendships and relationships all while convincing one reformed bully that sometimes a little courage can go a long way.

Spoilers: Content from all seven Harry Potter books as well as all aired episodes of Glee will be used in this story. While this story is set in what would be the 3rd Season of Glee, everything is nothing more than mere speculation on my part. Glee spoilers are so ridiculously inconsistent that trying to follow them is futile.

Notes: This story seems to be picking up something that resembles a plot, if only because my brain wouldn't stop asking me why exactly Harry would even end up in the US and then I had to somehow try and make it work. There's going to have to be some sort of suspension of canon timelines, particularly that of the Harry Potter Universe because the events of all seven books have in fact taken place but Harry is still merely seventeen for a majority of this story. If that really needs an explanation, I'm debating on hitting on the 'age is strange concept for magical folks because they live exceedingly longer lives than muggles' or that the events of Books Six and Seven were condensed into one year. Or Harry's cover story makes it necessary for him to 'legally' be seventeen when he's really eighteen. (Although all that business with the Time-Turners and such in Book Three makes me wonder if Hermione would legally be considered older than her recorded age. Questions, questions and even more questions.)

For: The Plot Bunny Whisper because they asked for a Harry/Dave story and I was hella intrigued.

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><p><span>Love, Like Ghosts<span>

Part One

Harry Potter stared down at the letter in his hand in blatant disbelief, glancing up at the pompous Ministry owl still waiting for his reply when it hooted irritably.

"You can't be serious?"

The owl thrilled back at the sound of his voice, cocking its head at a grotesque angle. Harry let out a sharp breath, nearly crumpling the parchment in his hand as he stalked out towards the main fireplace of Number Twelve Grimmauld Place.

The walls of the once gloomy-looking house were still rather gloomy and dull but portraits of friends and family, both alive and departed, hung in simply trimmed frames, buffeting the belief that Harry was an adult. He owned a house and he'd made it a home and the Ministry couldn't force his hand ever again.

A small worn flowerpot sat precariously on the mantle of the rather regal fireplace. A fire burned bright and cheerful in the hearth, filling the air with the faint scent of wood smoke.

As adult as Harry would like to believe of himself, the Floo Powder settled to the bottom was getting ridiculously low. His blunt fingernails scraped the very bottom of the clay-brown pot, tossing the powder into the roaring fire with a furious, shaking hand.

"Kinsley Shacklebolt, Minister For Magic."

Matilda Bennginsworth took the Floo-call almost immediately, her normally perfectly coiffed hair looking a little worse for the wear. "Harry, he's up to his elbows in reports at the moment. Can I take a message?"

Harry jerked the hand still clutching the Ministry-stamped notice up to wave it angrily at his fireplace. "I think not."

Matilda's eyes widened as she caught sight of the parchment and she gave him a quick nod. "I'll let him know you're on the line."

The 'and extremely peeved' went graciously unsaid.

It took a while, or so it felt to Harry- who couldn't seem to keep still as he watched the glowing emerald flames of the fireplace- before Kingsley's weary, lined face settled into view.

"I take it you've received your letter."

"I'm seventeen, Kingsley. I'm of age- the Ministry can't just order me around anymore," Harry said, waving the crumpled parchment around in front of Kingsley's disembodied head. He was beginning to feel rather foolish and less and less of an adult.

The man nodded, slow and thoughtful, as if Harry were some wild animal he needed to keep calm. "Yes, you are. However, certain events of the last three years have prompted recent changes to Wizarding law. Most noticeably for yourself, wizarding educational law."

"Hermione said that it would be perfectly fine for me to sit in on the NEWTs next June if I wanted to graduate," Harry pointed out, a tad desperately. That was their plan, what with the three of them having lost a good portion of the school year to hunting Horcruxes.

Kingsley gave him a tight look of despair and grief, his one hoop-earring glowing in the firelight. "_How_ would you sit in on them, Harry? Hogwarts was decimated in the final battle. It'll take a year at the least to rebuild her properly. Beauxbatons and Durmstang are out of the question and already accepting an overflow of students this coming year. This is the only viable option."

Harry shook his head, unwilling to remember how the castle that had been his home for the last seven years had been gutted in the final battle. "By sending me away? I thought you needed us to help-"

"It's not just you, Harry. We're relocating everyone who was a student at Hogwarts last year. Those who would have received their letters for this September are being pushed back until the next rotation. It's not just about educating the future anymore," Kingsley said meaningfully, his voice low and deep, "but things are still rather volatile here. One might say that sending young witches and wizards out of the country is for their own protection."

"The extremists?" Harry asked, knowing full well that was what his friend meant. Harry himself had received more than his share of death threats from a group of select muggleborns and muggles who'd known of the war brewing in the wizarding world. They were not happy with the way Voldemort and his prejudices had been allowed to fester in wizarding society and they definitely disliked the idea of celebrating Harry Potter- a half-blood from an old family- as their _champion_.

Adding that boiling pot of unrest to the already taxed Aurors attempting to hunt down the rest of Voldemort's followers left the Ministry in a bit of a delicate state of affairs.

There still seemed to be so much to do, even though they'd just finished burying their dead but a week previous.

"They are becoming increasingly violent and vocal in their demonstrations," Kingsley confirmed grimly, "Without Hogwarts, most magical families feel unsafe here. If we don't offer a safe, proactive option to schooling we may begin to lose the future generations of young witches and wizards that will be needed to rebuild our society."

"I feel perfectly safe here. My home is unplottable and buried under a mountain of disturbing Black Family protection magic," Harry pointed out quickly. He couldn't imagine anything quiet scary enough to drive him out of the country after the months he'd spent dodging Death Eaters and Voldemort himself.

"It's out of my hands," Kingsley said with a deep frown. "After the fiasco of the last quarter century the Ministry wants to promote as muggle-friendly a front as possible. People finally _want_ change and who better to lead us to it than you, the Wizarding World's Hero and Champion of Muggles and Muggleborns?"

Harry frowned, his skin tingling at Kingsley's words. Uncomfortable didn't even begin to explain how his public image made him feel. "I don't want to be that person. You promised me that everyone would leave me alone now that Voldemort's gone."

"I wish for nothing more in the world than for you to find whatever happiness you seek, Harry," Kingsley's voice was low and regretful as he spoke, his eyes gazing at some point near Harry's ankles. "But you have to come to terms with the fact that you are and always will be a hero. People, _nations_, look up to you and how to handle certain political topics. You and your actions will inspire others to ultimately do what is right or what is-"

"Easy." Harry finished wearily. He knew that from the moment Voldemort put that searing scar on his forehead, Harry Potter would be a name to be remembered, but that didn't mean that he had to like it at all.

Even with the events of the last year in the forefront of his memory, Harry still didn't feel as if he were deserving of the title of anyone's hero.

Kingsley's gaze was too knowing, too understanding as Harry straightened out the paper in his hands and give it another once-over. "You'll do it?"

"Why America?" Harry asked, deliberating. "Why not somewhere a little closer to home?"

Kingsley's smile was shrewd and self-depreciating. "To be honest, that would be politics. Our international relationship with Wizarding America is thin at best. They've offered us aid for the coming years that it's going to take our people to rebuild and take back our reputation as the magical hotspot of the world but it's quite obvious that they're expecting a show of support in return. Your presence in America would be just as much an unofficial dignitary visit as it would be you fulfilling your scholastic duties."

"It's a sign of trust?" Harry asked, mulling over the words. "Kind of like an exchange of sorts?"

Kingsley pondered over the simplified version of events before nodding. "In a sense. It would also be considered an honour on their part- that we would entrust them with your safety."

Harry made a face at the idea of him being safe anywhere; unfortunately if Kingsley was telling it right, his every action for the next year would be the deciding factor for the whole of the British Wizarding population in general and in warming up relations between the United Kingdom and America.

_Fantastic._

"I suppose I have no other choice but to agree," Harry said with a put-upon sigh. He looked around his home with a sharp, sudden thought. "Dear Merlin, where will I live?"

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><p>"I think it's brilliant!" Hermione said cheerfully, spooning a large heap of steaming rice into her plate. "It really is a step forward to better muggle-wizard relations."<p>

"It's still kind of mad, Hermione," Ron protested around a mouth full of chicken. "Summer school! Just so that us purebloods don't make fools of ourselves when it comes to electricity and fellytones and the like."

"I think the fact that you're still calling them fellytones is a testament to how much you need this course, Ron," Hermione replied with a small sniff of disdain. "Besides, Harry and I have to take the course as well- we've spent the last seven years learning nothing but magic and mayhem."

"Useful mayhem," Ron said, swallowing thickly, "why in the world would I want to know how a light bulb works when I can just magic it on or use _lumos_?"

"What if you've lost your wand? Or something like Second Year happens and it get broken?"

"I still have the Deluminator."

"But what if you didn't?"

"Why wouldn't I?"

"It's a hypothetical question, Ron!"

Harry decided to cut in before Ron said something offensive and Hermione well, took offence. "Where will you be going?"

Hermione's stern frown melted into a joyful smile. "Australia! My parents loved their time spent there and should be out of St. Mungo's just in time for us to return for the new school year."

Harry nodded, feeling a sharp swell of guilt as he remembered exactly why the Grangers were in St. Mungo's in the first place. Hermione had taken the chance of breaking their minds by erasing her whole existence from their memories and sending them down under to be safe from the war.

Had their daughter not been one of Harry's greatest friends, none of that would have been necessary.

"They're shipping me off to Canada," Ron said in the awkward silence that had followed Hermione's excited announcement. "Mum's thrilled- we've got family that way so I'll be bunking up with them until this whole thing's over with."

"What about you, Harry?" Hermione asked softly, obviously recognizing that he had no family to stay with anymore, unlike both of his friends.

"America," He said with a small smile. "Apparently an old friend of Kingsley's moved there to pursue her passion- coaching high school football- after getting injured during some sort of top secret auror mission."

"America," Ron said slowly, obviously thinking hard on the idea. "I didn't think we had such good relations with the Yanks over there. What with our histories and such."

"This isn't random, Ron. They chose Harry for a reason, right?" Hermione directed the last question to Harry, her eyes narrowed. "It's politics all over again. How predictable."

Harry shrugged. "It's not like I can say no and not cause some sort of international magical situation, Hermione. The only thing I really have to do to make this work is go to school in Ohio and try and stay out of trouble."

Ron and Hermione shared an incredulous look.

"Harry, we've been trying to stay out of trouble for the last seven years," Ron pointed out. "I think you're doomed."

"Thanks, Ron," Harry said faintly.

Hermione looked worriedly between the two of them, biting her lip in thought. "I'm sure you'll be fine, Harry. We'll call and send emails and I'm certain it'll be no problem to visit during the holidays. Kingsley wouldn't send you anywhere unsafe."

Ron clapped a large, freckled hand down on Harry's shoulder and grinned. "Yeah, Hermione's right. Maybe this year everything will turn out alright."

A frown stole over his face for moment as Hermione wandered off into the kitchen to get another glass of soda. Ron leaned forward and quickly whispered at Harry, "what's an email?"

* * *

><p>Muggle Prep 101 started not a week later and continued well on into the summer months.<p>

Harry and Hermione found themselves with nothing much more to learn about 'going muggle' than catching up on their deserted schooling and taking their specified country's driving exam.

Ron, much to their utter amusement and endless torment, seemed to have inherited Mr. Weasley's love for all things muggle.

("They've invented plugs, you see. Slotted into the wall like they're nothing and everything just has to be plugged in. Get it? Plugged in!"

"Ronald, I am a muggleborn witch. I know what a bloody plug is!")

Harry found American history to be just as dull as Wizarding history. Whether this was because history was just that boring of that it was taught by a pair of bumbling civil war ghosts who continuously argued over who was right and who was 'a biased, yellow-livered cur telling the whole damn thing the wrong way' was yet to be determined.

Geography was another thing entirely.

("Fifty states and capitals! It's maddening."

"Canada's not so bad, mate. Can't spell Nunavut for the life of me though."

"Why is Alaska even an American state? It's connected to Canada!")

Mrs. Weasley threw a rather large party for them at the end of August, to mark their graduation from muggle prep and as a joint going-away party all at once. Harry learned from Bill that Ginny would be spending her time in Romania with Charlie.

"Just in case the two of you ever want to reconnect," he said with a wink. Harry figured it wasn't worth the breath it would take to explain that he and Ginny had parted on good terms and were unlikely to every 'reconnect' again.

Before long it was September first and Harry found himself alone, pushing a trunk-filled trolley at London's International Airport. Hermione's flight had left that night with a stop-over in Dubai before she would even reach her destination, just as Harry himself would be touching down in Columbus, Ohio.

Ron's flight wasn't for another six hours, something Harry wished he could at least see. His friend's reaction to what exactly he would actually be flying in would have been brilliant.

After finding his gate and eventually getting his luggage checked in at the proper station, Harry took a quiet moment to himself as he peered out at the number of planes on the tarmac.

He'd never been outside of Europe. He'd never even considered the idea, especially after discovering Hogwarts and everything that world involved. Between surviving year to year and putting up with the Dursley's ridiculous behaviour, all Harry had ever really wanted to do was spend the summer holidays lazing around the Weasley's back garden and graduating with his wand intact.

Now, he'd be father away from both of his friends than ever before and attending muggle high school in small-town America.

His life, Harry concluded as his flight number was called to board, was seriously weird.

The flight was long and somewhat frightening when they'd hit turbulence just over the Atlantic Ocean. A baby six rows up cried from take-off to the first soft bump of landing before passing out into an oblivious sleep as the other tired, grumpy passengers of Flight 2405 exited the plane into Columbus International.

Harry waited until the last of the passengers began to trickle off the plane before pulling his own carry-on from the overhead compartment with slow, unhurried movements.

He wasn't exactly nervous but the idea of meeting another auror, even one retired from the job, certainly made him wary. Most aurors either thought he was amazing and seemed to hold a creepy kind of regard for his boy-hero status or despised the very ground he walked on.

A select few even knew what Harry was truly like.

With a friendly wave to the overly-cheerful flight attendant, Harry took a slow, calming breath and quickly began his walk up towards the terminal's exit.

* * *

><p>Shannon Beiste felt burly and out of place among the excited family members waiting anxiously as the flight in from London finally began to disembark.<p>

It was ridiculous, taking on a seventeen year old as her own damn charge when she could barely keep the respect of the kids on her football team. Especially considering exactly who Kingsley had talked her into letting into her home.

The piece of cardboard, cut squish on one side, read one word: Potter. She fiddled with it nervously before straightening up and staring down the last of the passengers wandering out of the terminal exit.

The kid better damn well have gotten on his plane or so help him Merlin she was going to fly over there herself and drag his ass across the pond. Shannon Beiste didn't suffer fools or cowards lightly.

Shifting from foot to foot for what felt like the hundredth time in less than an hour, Shannon saw him, looking worriedly around the mouth of the terminal.

He was…so very short for someone who had defeated a Dark Lord. Shannon found herself studying his tense shoulders and pale face as he scanned over the crowded airport, his knuckles tight and white on the strap of his carry-on until his gaze caught her sign.

A small smile ghosted over his mouth and almost against her will, Shannon found herself liking the kid already. Auror training had taught her to above all trust her gut and despite her doubts Potter had a genuine smile.

"Potter," she greeted with a sharp nod, tucking the sign under her arm. "Luggage claim is this way."

"Thanks for having me, ma'am," The kid said quietly as he shuffled up beside her, barely coming up to her broad shoulders. "Kingsley spoke highly of you."

"Man's got one hell of a silver-tongue," Shannon agreed, her eyes roaming over the flickering flight numbers to find their luggage wheel. "How's it going for him back there?"

Potter pressed his lips together tightly for a moment, an obvious sign of unease and distress. "Not as well as we could have hoped. Diagon Alley is still under repairs, Hogwarts may take an entire school year to rebuild and muggleborn extremists are starting to cause havoc in the general public. Especially aimed at those who are more than muggleborn."

"Jesus, it's gone from one end of the line to the other, huh?" She asked, unable to stop her smirk at the sight of a scuffed trunk tumbling down onto the conveyer belt. "I'm guessing that one's yours?"

Potter bit his lip, grinning himself as he hauled the trunk off of the wheel and onto the tiled floor. "It doesn't feel right, starting a new school year without my trunk. I wasn't sure if I'd have any time for back-to-school shopping so I brought as much as I could hide in an extendable trunk."

Shannon nodded, taking the handle out of his hand and hefting it easily up into her arms. It was impossibly light for what it was supposed to be carrying and she knew if she scanned its scuffed and scarred leather walls she'd find traces of a feather-light charm.

Intelligence and fore-thought; Shannon was more than a little impressed.

"I figured since we're already kicking around Columbus we might as well get anything you need here in the city. Lima's got about one actual mall, one tiny strip mall and a few scattered cafes and restaurants that the kids take over whenever they can. If you need anything specific you'll have to either hit up Westerville or right here."

Potter nodded, his eyes darting around the moving crowds, assessing and admiring how every day folk seemed to go about their business. "That's fine. I really just need a knapsack and some new robes…I mean clothes. Muggle clothes."

Shannon chuckled at the slip-up, pushing her shoulder against their exit door as she tried to navigate around a frazzled couple who'd tried to come in with a gaggle of kids. "It's the exit, buddy. Let me out."

Potter skirted around them, quiet and strangely unobtrusive as they cross the crumbling parking lot and stowed away all of his luggage into her 2002 Accord.

He was unnervingly polite and mellow for a teenager, Shannon thought absently. Not the snooty, prep-school boy polite but almost as if general kindness was so deeply ingrained into his personality that he couldn't help but come off as a somewhat reserved, well-mannered young man.

It was a refreshing change from the sweaty, smelly, animalistic teenage boys Shannon dealt with at McKinley- especially those on the football team.

The trip to the local Wal-Mart was just as pleasant, with the kid easily navigating the aisles to find exactly what it was he needed to begin his first year of muggle high school. He'd flushed pink with embarrassment when the pretty cashier at their check-out had had to swipe his shiny new debit card and explain exactly how the whole system worked.

Before long they were driving out of Columbus, Potter having declined a pit stop for anything other than a drive-thru coffee and bagel shop, requesting a cheap iced tea and a sesame seed bagel with a slice of cheddar.

Shannon vaguely began to wonder if there was a downside to this kid as she watched him slowly drift off to sleep in the front passenger's seat. She'd met adults who could have learnt a thing or two about maturity from him.

Potter didn't wake up until they hit the outside of Lima, passing the peeling, dented welcome sign in the afternoon light. His hair was a perpetual mess, sticking up in cowlicks all over the crown of his head.

"Sorry," he muttered, still half-asleep, "I think I've been hit by that jetlag thing people always complain about."

"Figured that," Shannon replied, turning in on her road. "We're nearly to the house now, if you want to get settled in and get back to sleep. There's fresh new sheets on the bed, those tiny bottles of shampoo and body wash in the bathroom- everything's all set."

Potter smiled as they pulled into the driveway of a beautiful two-storey house.

"Thanks for letting me steal your guestroom, ma'am," he said sheepishly, still staring up at the pale, pink-brown bricks that made up the walls of the house and the clean white trim around the windows. Even the walkway was done in matching cobblestone.

Shannon quirked an eyebrow at him as she turned off the car and undid her seatbelt. "Winning the State Championship last year meant a nice, hefty pay raise. This place comes with a basement apartment that's all yours until you head on back home at the end of June. Kitchen, bathroom and one bedroom- just enough room for one young man, I figure."

The kid seemed to be trying not to gap at her too much, opening his mouth to say absolutely nothing for a long moment. Finally, he seemed to swallow his silence and speak. "I have an apartment?"

Shannon pulled herself out from behind the steering wheel, trying not to smirk as the kid quickly scurried to catch up to her.

"You got your own apartment, Potter," she agreed amicably, popping the trunk and quickly looping the handles of the dull, grey Wal-Mart bags around her wrists. "Try and get settled in quickly- tomorrow we're getting you a car."

It felt good, Shannon decided, having the power to make The Boy Who Lived stand speechless on her front lawn.

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><p>AN: I'll be attempting to get out at least one part a week, even more if I'm lucky. Harry should be meeting Dave and much more of the Glee characters in the coming parts. Thanks for reading!

-stangerine88


	2. Part Two

**Love, Like Ghosts: A Glee/Harry Potter Crossover**

Pairing: Harry Potter/Dave Karofsky (as well as canon Finn/Rachel, Kurt/Blaine, Sam/Mercedes, Tina/Mike and maybe some hints of Brittany/Santana) I also totally support a Harry-Blaine friendship.

Summary: Pushing for change and left with their ruins of their only magic-based school, the Ministry of Magic passes a law that forces each Hogwarts student still awaiting graduation to spend one year attending a muggle school. Harry finds himself relocated to Lima, Ohio- where the football coach is a former-Auror, the cheerleading coach is absolutely certifiable and blatant discrimination and prejudices thrive in the cut-throat world of high school.

It's there, nestled in the pool of hatred and pettiness that Harry finds Mr. Shuester's Glee Club and finds himself with the dubious task of navigating their tumultuous web of friendships and relationships all while convincing one reformed bully that sometimes a little courage can go a long way.

Spoilers: Content from all seven Harry Potter books as well as all aired episodes of Glee will be used in this story. While this story is set in what would be the 3rd Season of Glee, everything is nothing more than mere speculation on my part. Glee spoilers are so ridiculously inconsistent that trying to follow them is futile.

Notes: This story seems to be picking up something that resembles a plot, if only because my brain wouldn't stop asking me why exactly Harry would even end up in the US and then I had to somehow try and make it work. There's going to have to be some sort of suspension of canon timelines, particularly that of the Harry Potter Universe because the events of all seven books have in fact taken place but Harry is still merely seventeen for a majority of this story. If that really needs an explanation, I'm debating on hitting on the 'age is strange concept for magical folks because they live exceedingly longer lives than muggles' or that the events of Books Six and Seven were condensed into one year. Or Harry's cover story makes it necessary for him to 'legally' be seventeen when he's really eighteen. (Although all that business with the Time-Turners and such in Book Three makes me wonder if Hermione would legally be considered older than her recorded age. Questions, questions and even more questions.)

For: The Plot Bunny Whisper because they asked for a Harry/Dave story and I was hella intrigued.

Thanks for all the wonderful reviews and for picking out any errors I'd missed in the last chapter. Sadly I only have me and my spell-check to run over this thing before I post so any help is greatly appreciated!

Warning: There are **homophobic character**s in this part and for the rest of the story. **_Absolutely none of the views of these characters reflect my own._** If you find you're sensitive to harsh language or physical/slushie violence, please turn back now.

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><p>Love, Like Ghosts<p>

Part Two

Burt Hummel shook his head as he watched his son strip out of his overalls in what would have been Guinness World Record breaking time had anyone actually thought to call the officials.

"I'm finished for the day," Kurt said, more than a bit unnecessarily, "I'm going to hit up the mall with Mercedes, Tina and Rachel for all the back-to-school deals."

"Just be home for dinner," Burt replied wondering exactly what else his kid could buy for school. There couldn't be that much left with just under a week to go and Kurt's somewhat compulsive need to organize everything. "Carole's working early today so she should have a handle on the kitchen tonight."

Kurt smiled, absently fixing an invisible stray hair in his gravity-defying updo. Burt sometimes wondered if his son's hair ever just…moved.

Probably not. He'd seen his boy drown his head in a cloud of toxic hairspray when a single lock seemed to tilt too far to the left or something.

"Don't work too hard and only eat exactly what I've packed in your lunch can," Kurt said sternly, giving him a pointed stare. "Or I'll _know_."

Burt didn't doubt it, even if his taste buds mourned the whole wheat, fake-turkey sandwich he'd be chewing on in an hour. There was a very good possibility that the prolonged exposure to the chemicals in all those facial creams and hair products had somehow made Kurt a psychic when it came to Burt breaking his heart healthy diet.

Jimmy ambled out of the storage room, wiping dirty hands with an even dirtier rag. "Kurt gone shopping?"

"I'm starting to think he's buying doubles of everything, just to strain my credit card."

Jimmy laughed, full-bellied and loud. "If he didn't work his ass off right beside us damn near every day I'd have accused you of spoiling the boy years ago. My youngest still thinks my job is nothing more than driving out to trim down our money tree every week."

Burt let the response that Jimmy's teenage _daughter_ didn't compare to his damn_ son_ die as a familiar 2002 Accord pulled up to the front of the shop. Shannon Beiste stepped out into the bright afternoon sun to greet him with a smile.

"Good afternoon, Coach Beiste," Burt said warmly, eying the car beside her, "that Ford giving you any trouble?"

Beiste shook her head. "Runs like a dream. I'm actually here looking for a car for someone else. Potter, get over here."

A pale, short-looking kid with the kind of hair Kurt would have cried over gave Burt an awkward kind of half-wave. "Hello."

Burt felt his eyebrows jump at the unfamiliar accent. "Yours?"

Beiste laughed, deep and amused. "No way. I'm just housing him. Exchange-student program from a sister school of my own alma mater. Either way I figured this was the best place to get a well cared for second-hand car."

"I have my license and price isn't a problem," Potter added quietly.

Burt gave Beiste a look, wondering if this kid was for real. "We got a few cars hanging around the back of the shop. I make a habit of repairing and restoring the write-offs. Never know when someone might need a cheap, used car around here."

Shouting for Jimmy to keep an eye on the front, Burt tugged on the brim of his pighat and led the unlikely pair out and around the shop.

"I'm still working on the Taurus there- it won't be done for another month or so if I can get the parts in. The Fiesta is done but it's got a lot of miles on it and well, that green is downright ugly."

Potter smiled briefly, looking a bit like he was trying not to. Burt shot Beiste another questioning look- it was the kind of smile he'd seen on Kurt a number of times just last year. Right when he was being bullied by that weird kid who'd suspiciously turned over a new leaf.

Beiste shook her head just enough to let him know that the kid was in good hands before she pointed out at the far side of the lot. "What about the Focus over there. Red's a good colour right?"

Potter eyed the car appreciatively, walking over to touch the glossy paint job Burt had splurged to get done just a few weeks ago. "She's lovely. How much?"

"Well, you'll have to go about getting her insured, certified and emissions tested on your own, so I'd say we'll be fine with an even thousand."

Potter peered into the interior and quietly scoffed at the price. "Double that and maybe I won't feel like I'm stealing from you. The interior is immaculate and the paintjob is brand new. I can afford it."

Burt grinned despite being caught red-handed trying to lowball the price. "You know a thing or two about cars, kid?"

Potter shook his head. "Just what good looks like."

"You might as well let him pay you, Burt," Coach Beiste said, her voice low and amused. "I'm coming to find he's as stubborn as he is well-mannered."

Burt was a pretty stubborn guy himself.

"This your first car?"

Potter nodded, his fingers dancing over the rounded edge of the bonnet. Burt figured it was; the kid didn't act like this whole process was boring like most spoiled teenagers did when their parents dragged them into Burt's shop. "Then it's a one and that's it. Take it or leave it."

Potter hesitated, pressing his lips together in a tight, uncertain line as his fingers came up to fiddle with a pair of thin, wire-rimmed glasses. "I guess I can't exactly force you to up the price. I'll take it."

Coach Beiste clapped a firm hand down on Burt's shoulder, grinning widely. "Let's get the paperwork started. I'll take Potter down to Jack's tomorrow to get the insurance wheel running. I thought you did certifications here?"

Burt nodded. "We do but most people looking to buy a used car want to sell out and look for a cheaper place to certify. I can have Jimmy and Kurt do it tomorrow morning."

Filling out the paperwork had become more of a hassle ever since Kurt and Carole had set up the computer in the front to electronically file away his forms. Between cursing his slow, unsure typing and whacking the side of the monitor whenever it flickered out, Burt learned that not only was the car going to a good kid but that same kid would be in class with Kurt and Finn.

"I'll let it slip at dinner tonight that they're getting a new student," Burt promised, finally finding the 'print' button in the mess of options on his screen. "The whole Glee Club will know by the time I've finished my peas."

Harry- a good, strong name, Burt thought with a grin- tried to flatten one of the more stubborn cowlicks at his crown. "I appreciate the offer, Mr. Hummel but I'm sure I'll be fine on my own."

He tried in vain to swipe his debit card, nearly cracking the thing in half when it wouldn't read.

"I think it's a good idea," Coach Beiste said gruffly, giving Harry a measured look. "They're pretty much a mix-mashed band of misfits. I'm sure you'll fit right in."

Whatever joke the two of them seemed to be sharing went right over Burt's somewhat bald head. "Okay, here's your keys and ownership papers. I'll give you the spare when you come and pick her up in the morning. Any time after eleven should be fine."

"Thanks again, Mr. Hummel," Harry said quietly, pocketing the keys and folding the papers into thirds.

"No problem," Burt replied and the whole thing felt a bit clichéd, like all small-town business transactions. "Welcome to Lima, kid."

"Tell Finn to get ready for another hard year if he's planning to keep his spot on the team," Coach Beiste said with a parting wave. "That Evans kid has been training all summer to get his shoulder back in shape."

"Takes more than a good shoulder to be quarterback," Burt called back, at ease with the good natured trash talking. "Finn's got leadership skills."

Jimmy gave him an arch look as they watched the Ford drive off down the street.

"Shut up and get back to work- what's it a crime to be proud of your step-son nowadays or something?"

* * *

><p>From: Kurt Hummel<p>

To: Blaine Anderson

02 September 2011- 7:43pm

_Were you at my dad's shop today? He's been hinting about there being a new transfer student all evening. Like it's breaking news. xo_

From: Blaine Anderson

To: Kurt Hummel

02 September 2011- 7:49pm

_No, I've been in Columbus all day. Why would your father even hint at my transfer when he knows that you know about it? x_

To: Blaine Anderson

From: Kurt Hummel

02 September 2011- 8:04pm

_A strange, subtle show of support for our relationship? If he's not talking about you it must mean we're getting another transfer student. Mysterious…xo (Do you have something against textual hugs?)_

To: Kurt Hummel

From: Blaine Anderson

02 September 2011- 8:11pm

_Stop trying to psych me out- your dad loves me. ;) I didn't think that transfer students were all that uncommon at McKinley anyway. You'll know all about it in a few days if you have a little patience. xx (I like kisses better? ;D)_

* * *

><p>To: The Puck Machine<p>

From: Finnessa

02 September 2011- 8:34pm

_dude burt said beast found a kid or sumthing_

To: Finnessa

From: The Puck Machine

02 September 2011- 9:11pm

_like a real kid?_

To: The Puck Machine

From: Finnessa

02 September 2011- 9:29pm

_yeah. shes a sponsor. Think its like rent 2 own. dude keep ur paw off my phone._

To: Finnessa

From: The Puck Machine

02 September 2011- 10:01pm

_no stupid. its like a charity adoption or sumting. shell giv him back when he gradu8s. ] even ur phone knows Ima stud._

* * *

><p>The square brick that was William McKinley High School loomed in the distance as Harry slid the Ford Focus into the nearest available parking spot. Furthest from the school, nearest to the exit- the best means of escape possible.<p>

High school still seemed like a foreign concept, even with the undeniable proof that this would be where Harry would spend the next ten months.

He wasn't nervous- he _wasn't_. Harry was just a naturally cautious person, the trait ingrained into him from seven years sitting at the very top of a dark wizard's hit-list.

The caution was warranted and had worked pretty well for him this far.

"Constant vigilance," Harry muttered pulling the sleeves of his jacket more securely over the wand holster strapped to his right forearm. Beiste had tried to talk him out of wearing his wand on his person but Harry knew the kind of troubles a stray wand clanking around in a knapsack could cause and that every present _caution_from the war made him feel antsy without its familiar weight.

The walk across the parking lot felt like an eternity crossing a particularly nasty circle of hell as a group of freshmen girls giggled and tittered in his direction. Anxious fingers tried in vain to flatten the fringe of hair falling haphazardly over his forehead, the gesture born out of a nervous habit of trying to hide the lightning bolt scar over his right brow.

The temptation to use magical means to hide the scar from sight had been nearly overwhelming but Harry had known from previous experience that glamour charms- while handy for reasons of pure vanity- were a hassle to keep consistent.

He'd settle for awkward, probing questions that could be deterred with a snappy "mind your own business" than ones that asked "why's your face look so weird?" anyway.

Groups of teens loitered all around the side and main entrances, trying to sneak a morning smoke or hugging steaming cups of coffee with bleary expressions. A few of the older students gave Harry a second glance but most of the school's populace seemed particularly uninterested in the stranger walking their grounds.

Coming up along a wire fence Harry caught a flash of red and white sports jackets before he heard a startled male voice yelp in outraged surprise.

"Look, it's the fag's boyfriend," a large dark skinned boy taunted, holding tightly onto the arms of a curly-haired teen who was not much taller than Harry himself. "Why don't we teach him his proper place here at McKinley?"

A loud blast of malicious snickering followed.

The top of the dumpster was thrown open.

Harry's whole body went cold at the impossible idea. Surely they weren't going to toss the other teen in the dumpster? Someone would stop them.

When another lanky red-jacketed teen grabbed onto the guy's legs, Harry resigned himself to being the one who would have to stop them.

A quick squeeze of his hand released his wand from its holster. Seeker-quick fingers brushed the tip as Harry brought up his right hand and wordlessly flipped the lid of the dumpsters closed again, adding a hefty weight charm for good measure.

The fumbling goons seemed to freeze at the sound of the dumpster top slamming down, still holding their prey in the obviously perfected form for a dumpster toss.

"Dude, it's just the fucking wind- lift it back up before Karofsky and Lopez show up," the dark-skinned teen snapped. The guy in his hands seemed to wince as they tightened their grip on his arms and legs.

"It won't open, man," another large-looking teen spat back, struggling against the magically weighted lid. Harry wondered for a brief moment if the pair of them had any giants in their family trees.

"Hello," he said cheerfully, stepping out and around the edge of the nearest dumpster. "I'm new here- I was wondering if someone might show me the way to the admissions office?"

"Scram, midget," the fourth red-jacket snarled, spraying spittle from his lips as he spoke, "does it look like we care?"

Taking in the matching jackets and stereotypical 'roid rage' expressions on the guys' faces, Harry figured they were on a team of some sort together. 'Jocks' as one might say.

He missed the days when being a jock simply meant you played quidditch and knew what a quaffle was.

The guy who had been struggling with the dumpster lid took a step back and with a snarling curse sent a vicious kick at its metal frame and Harry was suddenly reminded of Crabbe and Goyle- big, hulking bullies with less than a whole brain between them.

Peering out around the two jocks holding the teen they'd intended to toss in the trash, Harry gave him a small smile. "Do you think you could help me find the office if these morons unhanded you?"

The hesitant look of relief on his face nearly made Harry give the Muggle Secrecy Act the finger and give these trolls a scorching case of boils.

It didn't take much to figure out that the jackets seemed to be the thing of power at this school. Other students glanced in the direction of the dumpsters, taking in Harry, the trapped guy and the group of jocks before they averted their eyes and hurried away. The psychology behind it was disturbingly like the Death Eater's masks and their tradition of leaving a Dark Mark hovering over whenever they'd struck.

With another wordless spell, Harry watched impassively as the seams in each boy's coveted red and white jacket split, falling apart around them.

The guy strung out between the two biggest jocks dropped to the asphalt with a painful thump and quickly rolled towards Harry who pulled him to his feet.

"Well boys, I'd say it's been fun but you seem to be having an embarrassing clothing issue and I really have to get to that office," Harry said, wrapping a his free hand around the other guy's elbow and dragging him back towards the school.

A quick flick of his fingers pushed his wand back up into its holster just as they reached the double doors of the main entrance and the group of dumbfounded jocks disappeared from sight.

"That was- how did you-" The now rescued teen seemed to be at a loss for words, looking back between Harry and the doors.

"That was really awesome timing, wasn't it?" Harry agreed absently, still pulling the two of them along. "I truly need to know where the office is. Perhaps you can report the incident there?"

That seemed to pull the guy out of his awe and drop him firmly into bitter scepticism. "Maybe at my old school. The administration here could really care less. They'd even go so far as to say that I was asking for it."

Harry shot him a questioning look. He wasn't sure anyone would ask to be tossed in a dumpster that probably hadn't been emptied properly since _June_.

The guy seemed to hesitate, his eyes darting around the hallways quickly before something made him straighten his shoulders and proclaim, "I'm gay."

Harry waited for the revelation, for the actual reason why a group of deplorable goons jacked up on performance-enhancing medication and dressed in tacky jackets would want to throw him out like trash.

Homosexuality was apparently it if the other teen's expectant silence was anything to go by.

Homophobia. Wonderful. Harry really had to wonder what it was with societies and their need to torture, demean and outcast any number of people who didn't fit into what they saw as perfect or normal.

"That's a shit reason to pick on you," Harry replied, taking in the tense set of the teen's shoulders and the way he seemed to be expecting Harry to drag him back the way they'd come and throw him in the dumpsters himself. "I was hoping for something a little more exciting."

Relief was a physical weight melting of the other guy's shoulders as he seemed to realize that Harry could care less who he was attracted to- boys, girls, veelas, or hippogriffs- and quickly stuck out his hand. "Blaine Anderson."

Harry grinned at him. "Harry Potter."

"I'm going to hazard a guess and say that you're the other transfer student that my boyfriend has been obsessing over for the last five days," Blaine said casually, taking a small shove to the shoulder with ease as the hallways grew crowded.

Harry frowned at the retreating girl for a moment before answering. "I suppose I am-" he stopped for a moment, remembering Blaine's earlier words. "You're transferring in this year? Even with those gigantic tosspots outside?"

Blaine gave him a small, sheepish smile. "Yes. I- I suppose you can say people in love do foolish things. I had been hoping that with two out and proud people to pick on, the bullies would be spread too thin to get us both."

Harry's eyebrows twitched upward at the very idea. "Well. Mission accomplished then. Unless there's another group of neanderthals somewhere, giving your boyfriend a toss?"

Blaine shook his head, pulling Harry down the left-hand corridor. "No- we were supposed to meet out front and walk in together but they were halfway to school before Finn realized he'd forgotten his backpack."

Harry was proud of the way he kept from making a quip about this Finn guy's apparent intelligence as they rounded another corner and Blaine presented him the office door with a flourish.

"I hope we have a few classes together," Blaine said quickly, as the secretary hurried them in and pointed Blaine towards what had to be the headmaster's- principal, Harry mentally corrected- office. "And thanks for back there."

Harry waved him off, settling into the uncomfortable, twisty-shaped chair. "No problem. Really."

Feeling brash and a bit rebellious, he looked up and out at the crowded hallway, catching sight of the now jacket-less jocks sulking down the corridor. Harry waited until they'd all caught sight of him sitting in the principal's office before giving them a large smile and overly-enthusiastic wave.

Committing social suicide had never felt so good.

* * *

><p>"And where exactly is your uniform?"<p>

Dave Karofsky turned away from his locker at the sound of Santana Lopez' sly voice.

"Seriously? I thought we disbanded The Bullywhips after you didn't win Prom Queen."

Santana snorted, fixing her beret as it slipped a little to the right. "Please, like I'd let the close-minded rednecks and backwoods Barbies of this hellhole tell me I'm not social royalty. Besides, this is like, totally principal-approved bullying if you think about it. Our word is law."

Dave rolled his eyes. "Our word was nothing, Santana. They still got to Kurt and they took me out to get to him. You think we're going to make this place gay-friendly before we graduate? Are you really that dumb?"

Santana's eyes narrowed dangerously, reminding Dave of a Discovery Channel documentary he'd seen on rattlesnakes and how calm they'd get just before they'd strike.

Santana Lopez was definitely a rattlesnake in a red satin jacket.

"Listen up, Manimal," she said soft and sure, "the two of us may not be stepping out of any shiny, sequined closets any time soon but there are at least two people that we know who have and maybe we can make this year a little easier for them."

Dave glanced around the hallway quickly, keeping a close eye out for Jewfro and his damn microphone. "Look, I've already apologized to Kurt- what more do you want?"

Santana shoved him up against the locker, getting close like they were about to make-out or something as she whispered fiercely, "Coward ain't cute, Dumbo. We want to get any kind of rep back we need to be firm on this. If the sheep in these halls won't _respect_ us, they better learn to_ fear_ us."

She pulled back, her eyes dark and bright in the crummy fluorescent lighting. "Unless you want to go back to the total dicksmack you were before, because I know I'm a bitch- I straight up own it- but that doesn't mean I like it."

Dave had to wonder what it was about girls that made them so confusing- Kurt never seemed to have any trouble understanding Jones or even that loud Berry chick who'd tried to kick him in the face when Beiste had forced them all to join Glee.

It damn well figured that if Dave couldn't be straight, he'd just be a piss poor gay dude too.

"Fine," he finally muttered, trying to remember where in the hell he'd chucked the Bullywhips jacket after the whole Prom mess last year, "but I'm telling you now it's not going to help. Berry and Chang have already got their first slushie to the face."

"Chang-Chang or Cohen-Chang?" Santana asked, securing her walkie-talkie to her belt.

Dave frowned. "Who the hell is Cohen-Chang?"

She waved a hand at him, giving the students around them a hard glare. "Have you talked to Azimio yet?"

Dave turned away from the open hallway, his throat tight and burning. "Z's not too happy with me. Haven't seen the guy all summer."

Another down side to this whole damn thing. Azimio had been one of his closest friends ever since middle school. Now he talked smack about Dave and seemed to be getting on good without him.

"Good, he's an asshole," Santana said firmly, propping one hand on her hip. "You might want to stay away from him for now anyway. He's totally out for blood."

Dave frowned. "Who in the hell would piss him off this early in the school year? Don't you gleeks know any better by now?"

"Word is that a couple jocks got their letterman jackets trashed when they tried to dumpster toss Kurt's Polly Pocket-sized boyfriend," Santana said with a shrug. "If it was one of the gleeks I'm totally taking them to Breadstix."

Dave made a face- he'd come to know her breadstick obsession even before they'd started fake dating. It was as epic as it was frightening.

Brittany waved at them absently as she and the geeky-looking wheelchair kid rolled up the hallway, her long legs hooked over the side of his chair. Santana's return smile was tight and forced and Dave knew that feeling, just a little.

"Hey," he said, deep and awkward, "that other thing? We still good?"

"I'm totally a better beard than you," Santana snapped and if her eyes were a bit wetter than usual, a bit darker, Dave knew better than to mention it.

* * *

><p>The meeting with Principal Figgins had been enlightening, to say the least.<p>

Harry found the man distasteful and weak-willed, lacking any allusion of authority over the school when a tall, blond woman dressed in a bright red and white tracksuit had barged into the office and started ranting about how the Glee Club was ruining today's youth.

She'd also told Harry to hurry on back to the Shire, which was not only offensive but horribly inaccurate.

"Lord of the Rings was filmed in New Zealand," Harry informed her curtly, "I'm British."

He didn't stick around to see what exactly she'd have made of that. He was terrifyingly reminded of Professor Snape for some reason.

Homeroom had been done and over with by the time he found himself outside of the office, if Harry's schedule was to be believed. His first class of the day would be English in room 205.

With a late slip in his hand, Harry politely knocked on the door and waited for the teacher to call him in.

Hopefully he'd have to forgo a typical new kid introduction with every class. McKinley was big enough that a transfer student would make some news but certainly not enough to warrant a full-on public punishment of having Harry speak in public.

He sincerely hoped so.

* * *

><p>Lunch period at McKinley High School was both welcomed and feared by most of its population.<p>

On one hand, it was lunch, which generally meant inhaling some form of sustenance and not having to listen to Mr. Shuester fumble his way through second period Spanish.

On the other, far heavier hand, lunch period was the one hour Kurt Hummel feared for his wardrobe the most. Between the slushie machine, today's rank-looking Tuna Surprise and the wilted, browning lettuce that came with calorie-toting ranch dressing and ready-to-burst cheery tomatoes, the lunchroom was a war zone full of projectile mines just waiting to blow up and splatter his McQueen and Marc Jacobs with stain-inducing squishy things.

Thankfully the heat seemed to be on someone else for a change and Kurt found himself insatiably curious as to who could have pissed off the Puckheads _and_ Football jocks any more than Kurt did by merely existing.

Mercedes was, for once, completely out of the gossip ring.

"All I know is that Azimio is pissed because his jacket got shredded but no one saw what happened or who did it," she said down the table, her eyes peering out over the rest of the lunchroom.

"Just to set the record straight, it wasn't anyone from the Glee club, right?" Sam asked, eying each of his friends. "We need to know who we're relocating if word gets out."

Everyone shook their head, or in Brittany's case wrote her answer on her napkin in ketchup, and the mystery grew.

"A few of the Cheerios tried to start a rumour that Finn had gotten back at Adams for ripping his jacket up last year," Quinn informed them, sliding into place next to Tina and across from Mercedes. "Santana and I nipped that one in the bud quickly."

"Yes, I can verify that Finn was nowhere near the school at that time because I vividly remembering having to drive him _back home_," Kurt said with a glare in his step-brother's direction.

"Dude, I forgot my bag- it's not like I tried to wash your laundry for you," Finn said, spreading his hands out as if to ask "what more do you want?"

Kurt sniffed. "As if I'd let you near our laundry after you machine-washed my dry-clean only Versace blazer."

"Where's Blaine?" Tina asked in the lull, as Finn sulked and Artie tried to find a way to make their table wheelchair accessible. "I thought he started today too."

Kurt shook his iPhone at her, looking concerned. "I was supposed to meet him this morning and make sure he got to Principal Figgins without harm but I couldn't find him by the time we'd gotten back from picking up Frankenteen's books."

"Check out the lunch line, man," Mike pointed out with the tip of his fork. "He looks like he's trying to decide if the 'surprise' in the Tuna Surprise is Salmonella or gut rot."

"I think this is the perfect time to talk about Nationals," Rachel said, sudden and loud. "I for one would not like to graduate without the banner of National Show Choir Champion on my transcript."

"We haven't even made Sectionals yet," Mercedes pointed out, sharing an interestingly secretive look with Sam. Kurt made a note to grill his girl on that little development right after he tackled Rachel's obsessive need to overachieve above his own rather high standards.

"It's never too early to start dreaming big," Rachel told her sternly, "If we keep writing our own songs and work on our dance moves I think we can take the title this year. We have to."

"No pressure," Quinn said with a perfect eye roll. "Hello, Blaine."

Kurt couldn't help but smile at his boyfriend's acceptance into his group of friends. He'd worked out an amazing summer schedule that made sure all of his girlfriends had perfect mani/pedi/shopping time while Kurt found whole days to spend lazing around with Blaine.

If by 'lazing around' Kurt really meant 'getting as naked as they were comfortable with and making out all the time'.

"Oh God, I feel like it's been weeks since you texted me," Blaine said, gripping Kurt's hand in his own for a moment. "Is McKinley always like this?"

"What happened?" Kurt felt his shoulders tighten and draw up at the idea of anything like his old bullying happening to Blaine. "I thought I saw Santana in her Bullywhips jacket when I got in this morning."

"Some jocks were going to _throw me in a dumpster_," Blaine said, still outraged at the very idea. "I tried to reason with them-" Kurt really hoped that McKinley wouldn't beat the optimism out of his kind-hearted boyfriend before they graduated- "but well, you know how well that was received the first time."

"That's not right, man" Sam said with a massive frown, "someone can seriously get hurt if they get thrown in an empty dumpster."

Kurt laid a gentle hand on the places he knew would be bruised, especially on Blaine's first toss. "Are you hurt?"

Blaine shook his head, eyes wide and excited as he turned towards the rest of the gleeks. "No, I don't know how it happened but the lid was blown down before they could throw me in and jammed, maybe. Before they could get it open again Harry was there."

"Harry?" Kurt asked, raising one perfectly sculpted eyebrow.

"The wizard?" Brittany asked, quite seriously. Everyone ignored her.

"The new transfer student your father was talking about," Blaine said patiently, his grin wide and easy. "I really don't know what he was hoping to accomplish all alone but thankfully the jocks were too distracted by their jackets falling apart to stop us from making a clean getaway."

"It was magic," Brittany said with a nod, going back to playing with her fork and spoon. "Do you think I'll get any sporks if I make my fork marry my spoon?"

"Wait a minute, Prep School Boy," Mercedes said, holding up a hand as if to physically stop Blaine's words. "Are you telling me the new kid didn't do a damn thing to Azimio and his jerk friends? Nothing at all?"

Blaine laughed in disbelief. "How could he have taken down four football players, destroyed their letterman jackets and escaped alive? He's actually shorter than I am."

"Magic," Brittany insisted.

"Why would he save you?" Quinn asked, smoothing back her shorter locks and giving Brittany another fork to add to her game. "Not that he shouldn't have but helping you or Kurt is pretty much a one-way ticket to an eternity of being a Lima Loser in these halls."

"He didn't care,' Blaine said, looking right at Kurt. "I told him upfront that I was gay when he asked by they'd want to dumpster me and he just, well I think he was annoyed on my behalf."

It took an actual effort to keep his jaw from dropping. "How has no one met this guy yet?"

Mike and Artie shared a guilty look.

"He's kind of in our AP Maths class," Artie said with a frown. "I feel kind of bad for totally zoning out when Mrs. Pearson introduced him."

"He didn't look all that interesting," Mike added when Tina jabbed him in the ribs with her elbow.

Whatever else that might have been revealed about Blaine's mysteriously noble saviour was deterred by Noah Puckerman's sly shit-eating grin.

"Holy shit, some dweeb just took a massive multi-slushie attack from Azimio right now," he said, sliding onto the bench beside Quinn. "It looks like a gay unicorn threw up out there."

Kurt, Tina, Rachel and Artie winced in sympathy. They were the most targeted for slushie facials- besides Jewfro and his creepy mouth-breathing- and Kurt had already packed three spare outfits in his Navigator for himself and one on the off chance that Blaine was hit more than once.

He doubted a new student would have the forethought to do the same.

"Do you know which way he went?" Kurt asked, pushing away his disgusting salad, grabbing his carrier bag with his other hand. Blaine followed suit, trying to wash out the taste of his own salad with a lukewarm bottle of water.

Puck shrugged. "Last I saw he was down the hall there. I think Santana might have shoved him into the girls' washroom before she started kicking ass. Where're the two of you going?"

Blaine gave him a small, approving smile as Kurt said, "to help."

* * *

><p>Harry looked around the toilet with stinging, watery eyes.<p>

Of all the ways he'd envisioned the jocks getting their revenge- and a few of them were ridiculously impossible given that none of them were supposed to even know magic existed- getting assaulted by crushed ice and high fructose corn syrup had not made the list.

At all.

Sneaking a peek at the bathroom door, Harry slipped his wand back into his palm and began vanishing the sticky, melting ice seeping into his clothes. His hair was, for once, plastered tightly to his skull and certainly not up for any kind of magical cleansing.

Passably clean, Harry took a moment to return his wand to its holster and remove his glasses before he dunked his head under the faucet and began rinsing the tacky mess out of his hair.

The bathroom door swung open behind him.

"Nice ass, Jeeves."

Harry turned his head to the right, letting the water puddle in his ear. The girl in the red satin jacket- the one who'd all but shoved him into the bathroom after the chilled beverage attack- was eying his ass with a lewd, appreciative smile.

Even with blurry eyes, something about the whole scene felt too heavy, as if the girl was forcing the smirk on her lips for him.

"Thanks for getting me out of there," Harry said faintly, his voice warped and echoing from the bathroom walls and the running water. "I was beginning to think that no one would help."

She huffed at him, tossing her dark, gleaming hair behind her shoulder. "Don't cry, elfling. It's like, my job to make sure the overjuiced morons that make up our sports teams get taken down a peg or twelve."

She adjusted her bright red beret and jacket pointedly.

Harry straightened up, squeezing the water out of his hair as he tried to read the words on the jacket's crest. "The Bullywhips?"

"We kick the ass of anyone who thinks picking on dweebs and losers is cool," she said, obviously not catching the irony in her calling the victims of bullying 'dweebs' and 'losers'. "Well, we get to hand them in for detentions and shit. I'm totally the founder."

"Congratulations."

"So what'd you do to piss of Azimio Adams and his steroid-ridden horde of mouth-breathers?" She asked, eying the water Harry could feel sliding down the back of his neck.

He shrugged, hitting the paper towel dispenser with his elbow. "If I had to guess I'd say it's a toss up between interrupting them at the dumpsters this morning or witnessing the destruction of their shoddy jackets."

The radio went off on the girl's hip, making her jump. "Santana, where the hell are you? The hall's a freaking mess."

Santana raised her eyebrows and looked around the toilet as if to ask Harry if it was okay to reveal their location.

"This isn't my first time in a girl' toilet," he said archly and left it at that.

"Kinky," she said in reply before picking up her radio. "Karofsky, I'm going to escort the target to his next class. Keep up patrolling, Esera Tuaolo."

"You're such a bitch, Santana," the radio hissed once more before going silent.

She rolled her eyes and gestured for Harry to hurry up. "He says that like it's a _bad_ thing."

"Does everything you say have to sound like a come on?" Harry asked Santana, frowning.

"Why- you want it to?"

She was certainly pretty enough, anyone could see that, but there was a hint of exhaustion in the way she leered at him and Harry knew her heart wasn't in it.

"I think I'll pass."

"Your loss, Pippin," Santana said with a bored drawl. "Come on, what's your next class?"

"AP Chemistry," Harry said with a frown. He'd tested high in both science and maths that summer, much to Hermione's distress. All her years of practising with Arithmancy and Potions had made her rather apt at Bio-Chemistry and Algebra though.

"Look at you," Santana said, peering out into the hallway, "brains and….well, I'm sure running from the jocks at this school will give you a little muscle at some point."

"You're just naturally offensive, aren't you." Harry said, not needing to question it.

To be honest, he found her general dislike of everyone around her to be entertaining, if not a bit sad.

"If you have to ask I'm totally not doing my job right," Santana said airily as they walked side-by-side down the corridor.

* * *

><p>AP Chemistry would have been amazing, had Harry not been acutely aware of the guy with the mohawk staring at the side of his head.<p>

He would have been willing to chalk it up to his growing paranoia from the earlier slushie attack had the other teen not meet his gaze more than once and smirked, flexing his arms.

Harry figured it was either primitive flirting or some not-so-subtle threatening gesture.

As the chemistry professor lazily waved his hand at the class in general, informing them that the partners they chose today would be with them for the rest of the year, Harry resigned himself to being forced into a partnership with the strange, frizzy-haired kid everyone seemed to be avoiding.

No one ever wanted to partner with the freakish new kid either, which was why the large hand clapping down over the back of his jacket was a sudden surprise.

"We're partners," the mohawked guy said, raising an eyebrow as Harry tried to jerk out of his hold.

"I think _not_."

"I don't remember asking you a question, dude," the guy said before hauling Harry out of his seat and dragging him over to his lab station. "Name's Puck. You're the dork who got slushied in the hall at lunch."

"I usually just go by Harry," he said, straightening his jacket with a frown.

Puck nodded. "That's cool. Look, Dobson's a pretty lax teacher if you know what I mean. I've been getting As in his classes for the last three years because everyone does their final reports on stupid shit like magnesium and water- flashy but childish. Dobson likes _explosions_, just like me. You got a problem with explosions?"

"Not particularly," Harry replied, his irritation at being dragged from his seat slowly draining at Puck's easy slouch. The guy looked like the poster child for troubled teens but his comfort-level in the middle of what Harry knew to be an advanced science class spoke otherwise.

"Awesome," Puck said taking two copies of that year's project outline from the frizzy-haired kid that seemed to have no partner. "So, word on the street is that you stopped Kurt's boy from taking a dumpster to the face. You making a move on him or something?"

Harry signed his name at the top of his copy of the project outline and tried not to grit his teeth too hard. The irritation was making a comeback. "I was just trying to be a decent human being- something most people in this school seem to have trouble with."

"So you're not gay?" Puck asked, looking ridiculously suspicious.

"No, I'm not," he said briskly. Had Puck asked if Harry was into men, well that would have been a different thing entirely. He had no qualms with misleading the guy who looked like he could kill Harry with a well-placed finger flick.

"Whatever, it's not like I care or anything but some of the gleeks are looking for drama. I had to listen to a bunch of shit about a gay-love triangle so, you know, don't be a triangle."

"I'll try not to," Harry said slowly, feeling a bit like the lone island of sanity in a hurricane of crazy. "Seeing as I'm a person and not a geometric shape."

Puck ignored him to stare happily at the locked cabinets full of chemicals. "Let's blow something up."

* * *

><p>Harry's last class of the day was relatively uneventful.<p>

Besides appreciating the form of the tall teen who'd been wearing the same jacket/beret combo has Santana while he'd broken up a fight between what appeared to be two jocks, Geography was utterly boring.

However, the blond cheerleader who honestly seemed to think that the capital of Greenland was Santa's Workshop seemed to hint at this class not being a total waste of time and attention.

It was with a vague sense of foreboding that the last bell of the day rang and everyone began to pack up and head for the door. Harry knew how this would work- the jocks he'd somehow grievously wronged that morning only had one more chance to redeem themselves before the drama of today would be yesterday's new.

If they were going to strike big, after school would be the perfect time.

Harry hovered silently inside the classroom as the teacher packed up his gradebook and what seemed like a dozen other trivial knickknacks before he headed to the door and finally acknowledged Harry's presence. "I'm locking the door, just pull it closed when you leave."

He nodded, waiting impatiently until finally he could stuff his binders into his knapsack and sneak over to the corner of the classroom not easily seen from the doorway.

Generally, spellwork around muggles was frowned upon, especially if it gave the wizard or witch in question too much of an edge. Harry had allowed the American Ministry Officials to blanket him with an anti-cheating spell and a monitoring spell that would tell them if Harry was using harmful magic against muggles. Considering that he'd wrecked the jackets of four non-magic folk that very morning, Harry figured a few Notice-Me-Not charms wouldn't be fussed over.

The halls were still noisy and crowded as students loitered around their lockers, laughing and making after-school plans. Harry skirted around a group of hooting jocks defacing a sign-up poster pinned to the announcement board with shiny, golden stars.

Harry wanted desperately to say something, anything to pull their attention away from someone's hard work but while he'd generally straddled the line between courage and stupidity on a good day at Hogwarts, this was his first day of high school. His own character and morals refused to let him just let bullying and discrimination pass but that didn't mean that Harry had to actively seek it out.

The main entrance was a short walk from the parking lot and thankfully jock-free as Harry calmly walked down the cement pathway and around the hedges towards his car and freedom. The Notice-Me-Not charm seemed to work almost too well as the eyes of his schoolmates slid past him with practiced ease.

The tense, expectant feeling of just waiting for something to happen didn't let up until Harry popped the locks on his car and slid in behind the wheel. Safety. All he had to do was make it home where he could decompress alone. Coach Beiste had mentioned that she would be holding try-outs for McKinley's football team all week just that morning when Harry had accepted her invitation to share breakfast.

Alone sounded like heaven after spending nearly seven hours with the loud, under-deodorized mass of teens that inhabited his school.

With a heavy sigh, Harry leaned back against the seat and wondered how he could have possibly thought that American High School would be boring.

* * *

><p>Notes: This part ended up being double that of the first, much to my horror. Thankfully I won't be writing each day Harry goes to class because that would get tedious and boring very quickly. I hope the Glee characters aren't too out of character either. I support the strange friendship of Santana and Dave because they totally rocked out at Prom together and no one went after him when he left the gym. He obviously needs a good close friend that isn't a raging homophobe.<p>

Thanks for reading and if there are any questions, leave them in a review and I'll get back to you, I promise. I really enjoy talking with people who share my interest in both Glee and Harry Potter.


	3. Part Three

**Love, Like Ghosts: A Glee/Harry Potter Crossover**

Pairing: Harry Potter/Dave Karofsky (as well as canon Finn/Rachel, Kurt/Blaine, Sam/Mercedes, Tina/Mike and maybe some hints of Brittany/Santana) I also totally support a Harry-Blaine friendship.

Summary: Pushing for change and left with their ruins of their only magic-based school, the Ministry of Magic passes a law that forces each Hogwarts student still awaiting graduation to spend one year attending a muggle school. Harry finds himself relocated to Lima, Ohio- where the football coach is a former-Auror, the cheerleading coach is absolutely certifiable and blatant discrimination and prejudices thrive in the cut-throat world of high school.

It's there, nestled in the pool of hatred and pettiness that Harry finds Mr. Shuester's Glee Club and finds himself with the dubious task of navigating their tumultuous web of friendships and relationships all while convincing one reformed bully that sometimes a little courage can go a long way.

Spoilers: Content from all seven Harry Potter books as well as all aired episodes of Glee will be used in this story. While this story is set in what would be the 3rd Season of Glee, everything is nothing more than mere speculation on my part. Glee spoilers are so ridiculously inconsistent that trying to follow them is futile.

Notes: This story seems to be picking up something that resembles a plot, if only because my brain wouldn't stop asking me why exactly Harry would even end up in the US and then I had to somehow try and make it work. There's going to have to be some sort of suspension of canon timelines, particularly that of the Harry Potter Universe because the events of all seven books have in fact taken place but Harry is still merely seventeen for a majority of this story. If that really needs an explanation, I'm debating on hitting on the 'age is strange concept for magical folks because they live exceedingly longer lives than muggles' or that the events of Books Six and Seven were condensed into one year. Or Harry's cover story makes it necessary for him to 'legally' be seventeen when he's really eighteen. (Although all that business with the Time-Turners and such in Book Three makes me wonder if Hermione would legally be considered older than her recorded age. Questions, questions and even more questions.)

For: The Plot Bunny Whisper because they asked for a Harry/Dave story and I was hella intrigued.

Thanks for all the wonderful reviews and for picking out any errors I'd missed in the last chapter. Sadly I only have me and my spell-check to run over this thing before I post so any help is greatly appreciated!

Warning: There are **homophobic characters** in this part and for the rest of the story. **_Absolutely none of the views of these characters reflect my own._** If you find you're sensitive to harsh language or physical/slushie violence, please turn back now.

Also, there are mentions of past Dave/Kurt and past Harry/Cedric. Both of these pairings will not have a huge impact on the story and can be pretty much ignored if they're not your cup of tea because they don't actually happen. If that makes any sense.

* * *

><p>Love, Like Ghosts<p>

Part Three

As a general rule in life, Santana Lopez cared about no one but herself.

It wasn't that her parents were shitty or absent or whatever Lifetime Movie-esque hidden secret the world probably thought she had going on. Her mom was a quiet woman who loved to freaking _bake_ all the damn time and whenever her dad wasn't working his ass off like a fucking boss he spent his time home with his family.

They were pretty awesome and Santana absolutely _hated_ it.

She wanted out. Out of Lima and it's stupidly small-minded, in-your-face nosy population. She wanted out of Ohio and it's boring, boring, boring everything.

She wanted sun and sand and ice-cold martinis in her hand.

She wanted _Brittany_.

Santana knew that would never happen if she let herself care about people- if she stayed in, in small town Lima, Ohio just because she got attached.

So she didn't.

That didn't mean that every now and then, Santana didn't find herself not actively disliking a few people. Brittany, for obvious reasons. Kurt, because if there was one thing she could respect it was a bitch with a killer voice. Even Dave made being gay in this assbackwards town a little less lonely.

Harry Potter sure as hell wasn't one of those people- Santana barely knew the guy outside of their sole conversation in the girls' bathroom- but she'd flirted and for the first time, a hot, single guy had turned her down.

It wasn't just her talking out of her ass when Santana said she'd never been turned down. She hadn't; she'd had a- completely unsatisfying- whirl on Finnocence even though he'd been hung up on the loud, large-handed cabbage patch kid he now called his girlfriend. She had a standing deal with Puck when it came to sexting and whenever they needed something a little less like a freaking relationship.

Hell, Santana had gotten her claws into the deliciously flexible Mike Chang before the Gothic Vamp-Asian had sunk her teeth into him.

Even the sickeningly charming Sam Evans had come calling, inspiring her magnificent original song, Trouty Mouth. Just because he hadn't appreciated it didn't mean it wasn't badass- or accurate.

The point was that guys- straight guys- didn't ever turn her down. It was like, a universal law. The fact that the messy-haired dwarf who'd apparently spent some time in a girls' washroom before getting slushied, had? It made him interesting and Santana needed some more _interesting_ in her life.

That was why she'd literally dragged Dave to school at the asscrack of dawn- well, quarter past seven in the morning but whatevs- to make sure they'd get there in time to ambush the guy before Azimio and his sweaty flying monkeys got the chance.

"I really freaking hate you right now," Dave said staring blearily out at the empty parking lot. "Not even _Beiste_ is here yet."

Santana gave him a dismissive hand wave. "You have anything better to do? Are your wet dreams about Hummel and his pocket-sized boytoy really that interesting?"

"It's not like that," Dave snapped, flushing in the early morning light. "We're buddies now. I help him with PFLAG shit and he doesn't tell anyone I'm…you know."

"Capital G gay?" Santana suggested, raising her eyebrow. She knew it was like, a process or whatever- Twelve Steps To Admitting You Like Dick- but the fact that Dave couldn't even say it made her wonder if he was ever going to step out of his closet.

"Are you seriously telling me you'd turn his ass down?" She asked, half-serious. "Because I've seen him under those ridiculously suggestive bondage clothes and that boy has a nice body. _Nice_."

Dave shrugged. "Maybe last year I might have tried to hit that," he admitted, pulling on his beret anxiously, "but he's kind of a bitch, you know? Anderson might find it cute but I mostly just wish he'd stop talking when he starts going on about clothes and musicals and shit."

"Aren't you charming," Santana said drolly, and dropped the issue. She got it really, sometimes Santana wondered if getting her hand up Berry's skirt would make her fucking relax for a minute but even the hot mental image of getting that girl to let loose couldn't make her forget how much she hated Rachel Berry's like, whole personality.

Sometimes she just wanted to ogle someone; it wasn't a damn crime.

"Speaking of your wank fantasies come to life, look who just rolled up," Santana said, nudging Dave in the stomach. "Please tell me the two of you are sneaking into school early to take care of Sandy's tragic virginity problem already."

"Does that make me Danny Zuko?" Blaine asked Kurt, looking a little hopeful.

"I think we should be more worried that Santana's making a musical reference before eight in the morning," Kurt pointed out, sipping his coffee and eying their jackets with that funny little expression he got whenever Rachel wore her tartan skirt, woollen knee-high socks and poodle sweater together.

"Screw you, Hummel," Santana drawled lazily, "Grease is a classic. Rizzo totally deserved more screen time."

"And suddenly your whole personality disorder makes more sense," Kurt replied cordially, as if they were talking about the damn weather. His eyes slid over to take in Dave's tense form standing just behind Santana. "Good Morning, David."

Blaine edged closer, as if he looked like anything other than a pissy Pomeranian puppy with his ridiculous hair and overly-expressive face. Kurt kicked his shin lightly as Dave took in the posturing and looked away with a quiet, "S'up, Hummel."

Santana had to wonder how a girl like her had gotten stuck between three gay dudes.

"What's the big secret, Dave and Ivan? Has Kurt's dad threatened you with the flame thrower yet because I've got money on him kicking your ass when he walks in on you deflowering Pinocchio over there."

"Oh my _God_," Blaine muttered, dragging Kurt along. "Please stop talking Santana. We were just going to go practice for my audition for the Glee Club. Now I feel dirty."

"I'm pretty sure she has that affect on everyone," Kurt said comfortingly as they turned the corner and disappeared from sight.

Santana gave Dave a small smirk and said, "Virgins. Forever."

He looked away, out at the parking lot for a moment before rolling his eyes and she remembered that Dave was totally a dude-virgin too. Well, _awkward_.

A sleek, red car pulled into the parking lot with almost uncanny timing as Santana debated on whether or not she cared enough to kind of apologize or something

Even from a distance she would recognise that pint-sized head of hair anywhere. It was seriously in need of like, a comb, a squirt bottle and some heavy-duty gel.

Harry stopped at the end of the parking lot and eyed them suspiciously as Dave sighed and shuffled behind her. "Am I going to have to ask you your flat rate before the week is through?"

Santana smirked. "You can have me for free."

"Don't sell yourself short."

"You'd know all about being short, wouldn't you?"

"Are you done or can we get this over with?" Dave asked, cutting them off. Harry smiled at him, slow and easy and a touch embarrassed and Santana had that sudden, devious flicker of thought.

She shot Dave a speculative glance, mentally checking off the wandering eyes and uncomfortable hands-in-the-front-pockets squirming in disbelief. How was she the only homo not getting any in the near future here?

The reason for Harry's strangely polite and well-meaning rejection of her totally smoking advances actually made sense again. He was…well, at least appreciative of the male form.

There was the intel that Puck had gotten on Mercedes', Rachel's and surprisingly Finn's behalf- that Harry wasn't a sneaky gay looking to steal Kurt's curly-haired manlove right out from under his nose- but Santana knew that there was more than one way to be gay in Lima.

She also knew that at seventeen, all guys were a little bi-curious to say the least. Puck might have thought himself a total sex shark when it came to the female half of McKinley's student body but Santana had it on good authority that there had been copious ball slapping when Puck had joined Matt in double-teaming the boozy April Rhodes.

If a guy like Puck could be an opportunistic gay, the chances were that Harry had at least thought about it.

Thought about it a lot by the way he and Dave were eying each other up. Santana kind of wanted to vomit.

"So Jeeves, what's with the early morning sneakiness?" she asked as Harry glanced down at his watch anxiously. "I seriously hope you weren't planning on just trying to hide from Azimio and his clan of sweaty douche bags or I may have to revaluate being seen in public with you."

"Actually I was planning on jamming the dumpster lids closed before anyone was seriously injured," Harry said before turning to walk around to the side entrance he'd used yesterday.

Santana shrugged. "I'm in. What's the plan?"

He looked back at her over his shoulder, his eyes drifting past her to take in Dave's reluctant shuffling as Harry said, "I'm really just going to wing it."

Santana tried to share an eye roll with her goddamn fake boyfriend only to find his eyes tracking something a bit too low to be Harry's back.

"Checking out the brand name of his jeans too?" she hissed in annoyance. "I'm pretty sure they're Wal-Mart."

Dave's expression went tight and flushed, as if he were about to be sick and for a moment Santana regretted teasing him. "Shut up."

Harry looked back at them, his eyes lingering only to dart away as Dave tried to sneak his own glance.

Santana sighed, rolling her eyes skyward. Her karma score had better be fucking saint-like after this.

* * *

><p>If Dave Karofsky ever believed in God, this was the perfect proof that that God hated him.<p>

It wasn't as if Dave didn't think that, on some deeper, darker level, he didn't deserve it. He'd made Kurt Hummel's life hell for years; physically, verbally, mentally and on one occasion sexually.

He'd never forgive himself for becoming that person, that vicious, mean-spirited monster haunting the halls of McKinley. The fact that Kurt had forgiven him, was still trying to help him after Dave had driven him out of Lima and McKinley was almost impossible to believe.

Along with accepting Kurt's friendship and quiet support, Dave slipped out of the desperate haunting attraction he'd felt for him. The weight of being what he was lifted just enough to let him breathe and it was a little easier to pretend that maybe, just maybe he wasn't _that. _He wasn't gay.

And then Santana befriended the new guy.

Dave had felt the tingling, heart-stopping grip of that hand on his lungs before and for a moment, he was terrified. He thought he was over it, that he could bury the warmth he felt when one of the guys on the team punched him in the shoulder; that the press of Santana against his side made him feel anything other than '_not alone' _or _'ew boobs'. _

The cold, creeping fist of fear gripped the base of his spine. He couldn't pretend with this guy walking right in front of his eyes, looking back and smiling. Dave couldn't handle it. _He couldn't breathe_.

So he did what he always did. He pulled back, he lashed out and he ran.

* * *

><p>"Hey, Harry!"<p>

Harry turned quickly at the familiar voice, keeping an eye out for any stray slushies and jocks as he put his back to the locker door and caught sight of Blaine dragging a taller, pale boy through the unforgiving, crowded hallway.

"I'm happy to see you haven't made it to the bottom of a dumpster yet," he said with a smile, eying the strange print on the pants of the stranger. Who wore bright red pants with white starbursts on them anyway?

"Yes well, apparently the dumpsters are all suddenly out of order," Blaine said cheerfully, his arm still looped casually through the stranger's. "I'm going to take a wild guess and assume you had something to do with it."

"I admit to nothing," Harry said with a grin before turning to face the teen giving Blaine a rather obvious 'introduce me now' look. "Hi, I'm Harry Potter."

"Kurt Hummel," the guy said, shaking Harry's hand with a secure, warm grip. "Blaine's been talking non-stop about what you did for him yesterday. I'm thankful someone else was there when I wasn't."

Harry shrugged, looking over the smiley pair as a red jacket rounded the corner. "No problem, really. It was foul what those jocks were planning. Can the two of you do something for me right now? _Don't move_."

Identical puzzled expressions greeted him as Harry caught sight of the double-slushie attack headed their way and quickly made a damning decision.

Having missed nearly two years of actually playing Seeker on the Gryffindor Quidditch Team, Harry desperately hoped that his reflexes were up to par with what he remembered them to be. At the last second, as the unfamiliar jock circled around a group of straggling girls, Harry darted quickly around Kurt's right side and used the palms of both of his hands to slam the slushie cups up and back into the larger teen's face.

The vocal buzzing of dozens of conversations trickled down to silence in the hallway as the stunned jock stared back at Harry, dripping red and blue slushie onto the tiled floor.

"Cold, isn't it?" Harry said softly, eying the mess with distaste. "Bet your eyes are really starting to sting right about now too- you can blink, if you want. No one will make fun of you, it's not like they haven't all been the victim of this…what do you call this anyway?"

"Slushie facial," Kurt said helpfully. Harry gave his shoulder a fond pat.

"Yes, that. Now," he pressed in closer to the jock, taking in the growing anger and embarrassed flush started to swell on his flabby cheeks. "I want you to deliver a message for me, to all of your other team mates who seem to think this sort of thing is fun. Yesterday was a fluke. I won't be caught off-guard again. If you continue to try, this will be the result. The same goes for you trying this on anyone I may befriend while I'm here. Understand?"

The nameless jock shoved him back furiously. "Fags," he sneered at Harry and the two boys behind him before disappearing down the hallway and around the corner again.

A locker slammed as the silence lit up with whispers and gossip again.

Harry rolled his eyes, exasperated and vaguely hoping that no one would slip on the sticky mess the jock's failed slushie attack had left on the floor.

Kurt and Blaine were staring at him with wide, excited eyes as he turned back to face them. It gave Harry a sharp, heavy feeling under his ribs that something as easy and innocent as sticking up for them was so foreign. No one deserved to feel like they weren't worth that.

"Please stop looking at me like that," he finally said when it appeared as though he'd struck the two of them speechless. "It's making me uncomfortable."

"I think you've reached sainthood for saving my pants alone," Kurt said softly, his expression almost awed.

"You've also more than likely made yourself public enemy number one with that stunt," Blaine pointed out, frowning.

Harry gave him a mock wide-eyed look of surprise. "You mean I wasn't already? I must be losing my touch."

"You should sit with us at lunch," Kurt said suddenly as the warning bell rang above them. "I mean, you're already getting slurs thrown your way- sitting at the Gleek table couldn't possibly hurt your school rep any more."

Harry nodded, wondering exactly what a Gleek Table was as Blaine began tugging Kurt back down the hallway and hopefully towards their first class. Harry grabbed his own knapsack and quickly side-stepped the slippery mess on the floor as he made his way towards his Calculus class.

This classroom was smaller than many of the others Harry had attended the day before; three rows of six chairs were crammed into it, one spare chair flipped up onto the counter at the back of the room.

The reason for the extra chair rolled into the classroom not too long after Harry, taking the one and only seat left open. The guy gave him an apologetic look before he fist-bumped the skinny Asian guy sitting to his left.

The teacher scrambled in seconds later, nearly knocking Harry over his her haste to close the door as the final bell of the morning rang. "Sorry! I'm- oh. You're the next kid. Hang on."

She dropped her grade book and the attendance sheet, a large, plastic pencil case in bright yellow slipping out to pop open on the tiled floor when she bent down to try and pick them up.

Harry quickly offered his assistance as pens and pencils rolled away from their out-reached fingers. "Here, I'm- sorry; I'm not sure where to sit."

"Thank you, no I've got it. Go sit with Dave- he was my top student last year."

Finally, having crammed all of the gaudy, bobble-headed pens back into the pencil case, Harry straightened up and slipped down to the back of the classroom to grab the extra chair.

He slid the chair across the floor with a smile, taking in the less-than pleased expression that seemed to always grace Dave's face at his presence.

Granted, Harry had only actually met the guy that very morning, however years of being a student under the acidic tongue of Severus Snape had taught Harry a thing or two about picking up when someone was uncomfortable around him.

Dave Karofsky was unquestionably uncomfortable around him.

"I can move if you'd prefer," Harry offered as their teacher tried to get herself organized at the front of the class and ended up knocking over her chair. "You seem tense."

"I'm fine," Dave said between gritted teeth and the show of obvious discomfort nearly made him miss it; the way the larger teen's eyes cut towards Harry and skimmed his face, slow and interested.

Well.

Contrary to popular belief- also known as Ron, Hermione and most of the living Weasley clan- the war had taught Harry a thing or two about reading people. Between studying the way Dumbledore's cheerful, unconcerned façade had hidden his tragic past and stunning magical brilliance, and the way Snape had played an almost perfect role as a double-spy, Harry knew how to look at body language, at the cadence of a person's voice and pick out their true intentions in the falsehoods on their lips.

He knew when someone was being truthful. He knew when they were lying. He knew when they were sincere and he knew when someone was attracted to him.

That didn't mean that any sort of physical attraction didn't absolutely baffle Harry of course. He knew his body's short coming well- he was horrifically short compared to other guys his age, he was pale and his hair was in a constant state of unkempt and ruffled. He had scars, specifically the one on his forehead and his arms. An identical lightning bolt scar to the one over his brow arced over his heart, just hidden by the collar of his polo.

His knees were knobby and he just looked far too thin to be healthy but despite his unstylish selection of glasses, Harry had eyes of his own and he couldn't in good conscience say that, in this instance, the attraction wasn't reciprocated.

Dave looked…strong was the first word that came to Harry's mind as he studied the teen sitting to his right. Strong and firm and healthy. His hair was thick and sepia, a stark contrast to the pale skin of his face and hazel-green of his eyes.

Dave shot him another look of unease and Harry realized that his staring was becoming rather obvious.

"Dude, stop it. People are going to think you're...you know, on top of being a Gleek loser."

Harry frowned. "You mean gay? Is that honestly the ultimate sin in this school?"

"You see how bad Hummel and his guy have it," Dave snapped, flipping open his textbook to the proper page and shoving it between them. "Last year was worse."

Harry studied the page nearest to him for a moment before he reached out to tug at the sleeve of Dave's red, satin jacket. "Is that why you and Santana started the Bullywhips?"

He frowned in sharp confusion as Dave all but yanked his arm across the desk at the touch of Harry's fingers. "I didn't have a choice, man. Just…shut up and pay attention."

To say he was confused would have been a vast understatement, as Harry crossed his own arms and turned his gaze to the front. Nothing about Dave's behaviour made much sense to him; he was obviously attracted to Harry physically yet he all but jumped out of his skin at any kind of reciprocation or contact. He was one half of the school's anti-bullying team even though he obviously did not want the student body to think he was, in any way, gay.

Curiosity piqued, Harry knew he wouldn't be getting any answers out of Dave by continuing to question him during class. As the boy in the wheelchair raised his hand to ask a question, Harry vowed to get to the bottom of this at lunch. Although a new student himself, it was obvious that Kurt and Blaine had something to do with Dave Karofsky's behaviour.

* * *

><p>Santana dropped him off at the entrance to the cafeteria with a parting leer and a half-hearted attempt at a grope.<p>

Blaine gave him a hesitant, encouraging look as if he wasn't quite sure that Santana's behaviour was proper or even welcome.

"I'm pretty sure flirty is her default setting," Harry said soothingly as they made their way to the lunch line. "Where's your better half?"

"One conversation and already you're deeming Kurt my better half? I'm hurt," Blaine replied, handing him a tray. The slight flush to his neck let Harry know that Blaine thought Kurt was his better half too. "He's helping Tina get slushie out of her streaks. Your heroics this morning saved us but left the rest of the Glee Club at the mercy of the jocks."

Harry frowned fiercely down at the Tuna Surprise sitting disgustingly behind the sneeze guard. "I'm going to absolutely destroy that bloody slushie machine before the week is through, just watch."

The long, picnic-shaped table in the corner of the cafeteria was nearly full as Blaine led him over to a squabbling, mixed-matched group of teenagers Harry guessed was the McKinley High School Glee Club.

"Guys, this is Harry Potter- the guy from-"

"Whoa, Blaine. You found someone even littler than you," the tallest red-jacketed teen said suddenly. Harry eyed his overly tall body with a critical frown as he sat.

"That's Finn- Kurt's step-brother," Blaine said with a sigh, his mouth quirked in exasperation. "His brain-to-mouth filter is kind of non-existent."

Finn frowned at the two of them. "Hey, that's mean. Right?"

The Asian kid from Harry's first period Calculus class shrugged. "Maybe. Still accurate. I'm Mike Chang."

Harry nodded eying the surprising number of jocks at what Kurt and Blaine had essentially confirmed as the Loser Table that morning. "We have first period together."

"Yo, brother," the kid in the wheelchair called down the table. "Don't forget me."

"That's Artie," Blaine said, unwrapping his plastic fork. "Next to him is Brittany- no the blond one."

Harry waved down at them, arching an eyebrow as Brittany stared back intently at him and asked where his black cat was.

"She's…special," was the only explanation Artie had for him. Brittany thanked him throwing her arms around his head happily.

"That's Mercedes, Sam, Lauren, Quinn, Puck and finally Rachel," Blaine continued, pointing out each person with the pronged tip of his fork. "All we're missing is Tina, Kurt and Santana."

"Just Santana," Kurt said from behind them. Harry automatically moved down the bench to let him sit next to Blaine. "Thanks. Tina's hair is safe for another day."

The pretty Asian girl, whose blue-streaked hair was still slightly damp, gave Kurt a grateful smile before Mike pulled her down and dropped a kiss onto her cheek. "It was blue-raspberry slushie- if it had been cherry I would be sporting purple highlights and then I'd clash."

"I've spent most of the morning with Santana and Dave," Harry said with a grin. "Lunch might actually come as a reprieve."

"You _are_ public enemy number one at the moment," Kurt pointed out patiently, uncapping his bottle of spring water. "Especially after the whole slushie intervention this morning."

"Azimio is pissed," Puck said, kicking Sam under the table. "He's been wailing on us all extra in practice."

Harry winced. "Sorry. That truly wasn't my intention."

"Wait, Dave? You mean Karofsky?" Finn asked suddenly, and Harry had to wonder if maybe the guy wasn't still processing that part of the conversation.

"Yes. He runs The Bullywhips with Santana, right? They've been shadowing me since this morning."

"I think it's nice that they're going to continue the fight against bullying despite what happened last year," Kurt said, reaching out his hand to curl around Blaine's elbow. Harry wondered if he was the only one at the table who wanted to box them up and keep out all the bad things that seemed to weight down on them.

Despite their obvious personality differences, the couple reminded him of Ron and Hermione and how much he'd been willing to sacrifice to let them finally, _finally_ be together.

"I guess it's cool," Mercedes said, looking unsure. "Wish he could get the rest of the hockey and football team to stop."

"You should stay away from him," Finn said, screwing up his face in concentration as he thought of something unpleasant. "He's a douche."

Kurt scoffed, slamming his fork down on the lunch tray. "He's not! He's changed a lot since last year. McKinley actually has something of an anti-bullying force for once."

"Yeah," Artie said hesitantly, "mostly because the schools two biggest former-bullies are running it."

"Then maybe there's hope that others will join the cause!" Kurt looked absolutely exasperated with his friends, looking to Blaine and Rachel for support. Both nodded but Harry couldn't help but see how much the idea of agreeing with Kurt about Dave annoyed them.

"He totally stole Sam's girlfriend last year," Finn said loudly, as if they'd been shouting out reason why Harry befriending Dave Karofsky was a bad idea. Which, if Harry was honest, they kind of were.

"Yeah, and so did you," Sam pointed out, sending the returning quarterback a dark look.

Harry whistled over the noisy aftermath of that little secret getting out, trying to get everyone's attention.

"Not that I don't…appreciate what you're trying to do here," Harry said as Quinn sniffed in disdain and began playing with the ends of her short, flippy hair. "Well, to be honest I don't appreciate being told who I should or shouldn't befriend. I'm sure had yesterday morning happened differently, someone else would have told me to stay away from the Glee Club because everyone thinks they're total losers."

Kurt shot them all a smug look. "Harry's right. New Directions is supposed to be about acceptance and giving people a second chance. What happened last year had more to do with me than it did anyone else here and I seem to be the only person who's tried at all to get over it."

"It just seems like he's getting off easy," Tina finally said, sharing a look with Mike. "Karofsky tortured all of us long before we even joined Glee Club- now that he's sorry everything should just be okay?"

"I don't think it's easy," Brittany said suddenly. "It's kind of like reading. Sometimes the words get a jumbled up and it gives me a headache. Azimio and Dave used to be best friends but now Dave only has Santana."

Brittany frowned down at sandwich. "I want her back."

Everyone seemed to quiet at the soft admission by Brittany. Harry really had to wonder what the history behind those words were and if they had anything to do with why Santana tried so hard to flirt with him.

"What's your next class?" Blaine asked calmly into the awkwardness. Harry had a feeling he was used to filling awkward silences with pointed, precise questions.

"Philosophy with Professor Barnes," he said before grimacing. "I mean Mr. Barnes. Sorry."

"Same here, I'll walk you there," Kurt said briskly, devouring his somewhat sparse-looking salad in quick, neat bites. "I think everyone else here has computer tech, art or music."

Everyone murmured some sort of noise of agreement and continued to break off into their own little groups of conversation. Harry polished off what he hoped was a peanut butter and jam sandwich on whole wheat and wondered if he'd be able to get anything out of Kurt as they walked to class.

* * *

><p>Kurt Hummel was something of a perfectionist.<p>

Harry was equal parts amused, fond and horrified to find the taller teen reminded him strongly of both Hermione Granger and Draco Malfoy; neither of whom he knew would appreciate the comparison.

Kurt was talking rapidly about someone's latest Fall line up while Harry searched desperately in his already overflowing locker for a blank binder. He bit his lip for a moment- realizing that no, Kurt wasn't talking about sports; he was talking about clothing, for Merlin's sake- before he interrupted the other teen's long-running babble.

"Can I ask you a question? I know we've only just met really and if I'm being an absolute berk you can tell me to bugger off and sic your humungous brother on me but-"

"Harry, breathe," Kurt instructed sharply, his expression amused. "You should know by now that I pretty much have no problem telling someone off for being nosy. Ask away."

Harry stared in at the contents of his locker for a moment before he turned his gaze on Kurt. "What happened last year? I can't deny that despite taking your friends' advice with a large grain of salt, their reactions have made me unbearably curious."

Kurt frowned as he looked at his nails in what was obviously an attempt at casual indifference. "I take it you mean their passive-aggressive hatred of Dave Karofsky. Really, I'm starting to think it's really just misplaced guilt for most of them. Well, minus Blaine."

Harry smiled at Kurt, wide and teasing. "Yes, Blaine. The boy who transferred to a school full of homophobes to be with you. His over-protective side isn't all that surprising, to be honest."

Kurt blushed, much to his delight. The other teen always seemed so put together, the sign of something a little humanizing put Harry at ease. "Yes, well you don't know the whole story but I met Blaine when I was forced to transfer schools mid-term last year. The bullying got to the point where I wasn't safe here."

It all came to a chilling conclusion in Harry's mind, as he took in the furious faces of Kurt's friends, Blaine's staunch dislike of Dave and Kurt's insistence that they all actually try and get past it.

"It was Dave, wasn't it?"

Kurt looked uncomfortable, his shoulders tense under his tight, soft-looking jacket. "It wasn't just him- Finn, Puck and Mike used to bully me before they all joined the Glee Club but yes. Dave…kind of went off the rails last year. I had to leave."

"Yet you came back?"

Kurt shrugged. "Glee Club is kind of like family around here. We're all united with how utterly talented and unpopular we are. I only came back when Dave had started to deal with his issues."

Harry pulled his knapsack out of his locker again, brow still furrowed in thought. Things were making a strange sort of sense again, if only as to why Kurt's friends were so unwilling to give Dave the benefit of the doubt.

"Why you?" he asked abruptly, remembering Tina's admission from lunch. "He's targeted the other members of your club but none of them needed to physically change schools."

"Harry, you're looking at one half of McKinley's out gay population. The other half generally spends his free-time attached to my mouth," Kurt replied with a wry smile.

It took a moment for Harry to decode what pointedly wasn't being said and his jaw dropped.

"Wait, he bullied you because you're gay? Why would he- isn't he ga-"

Kurt's eyes widened fearfully as he slapped a surprisingly smooth palm over Harry's mouth and hissed, "shut up! You can't just say something like that here. Come."

Harry nudged his locker door shut with his elbow as Kurt grabbed his wrist and dragged him back into the same girls' toilet from his first day. A quick check of all the stalls made sure that they were alone before Kurt flicked the lock on the door and took and deep breath.

"I don't think Blaine will appreciate you dragging me into a toilet like this," Harry said into the silence, eying Kurt's angry expression.

"You can't out Karofsky," he said in reply, gripping the strap of his messenger bag tightly. "He's so deeply in the closet I could make highly inappropriate Narnia jokes. I- last year he was just so angry and terrified. Things spiralled out of control and only like, five people right now actually know the whole story. That's why everyone is so ridiculously determined to hate him no matter how much Dave's trying to change."

A part of Harry was outraged that the same guy from that morning would even think to become such a ghastly person that Kurt would have to leave his friends and his school for his safety. The part of Harry that wanted to see the world in good and bad, black and white, was righteous in its anger.

He also knew that sometimes, people were nothing more than human. They got scared and angry and selfish and they did despicable things because they were hurting and hopeless.

"I'm not going to out him," Harry said sternly and Kurt seemed to almost melt with relief. "I'm mildly offended that you think I would but I can understand your concern."

"It's just not my secret to tell. Last year he was really, _really_ messed up and I _know_ that doesn't excuse his behaviour but sometimes I feel like I'm the only one who gets it," Kurt said quietly before he gave his watchless wrist a pointed look. "We should get to class- we're already late."

Harry hummed in agreement, his mind still buzzing in circles of conflicting thoughts. "You can tell the teacher I got lost. Being the new kid certainly has its advantages this time."

"Ooh, I wonder how much mileage we can get out of that little excuse," Kurt said cheerfully, unlocking the washroom door with a flourish and leading them back out into the corridor and off to class.

* * *

><p>Wednesday classes came and went without much more than three attempted slushie facials.<p>

The tops of the dumpsters were all but welded shut, much to the confusion and horror of Principal Figgins. Harry pointedly avoided that area of the school, hoping to keep a low profile even though Puck cornered him between first and second period to slap his back in a painful welcome to bro-hood or something.

Santana slammed two jocks for trying to give Artie a swirly in the boys' locker room. How or why she was even in their to begin with only seemed to puzzle Harry as the rest of the Glee Club took the news as if it were something to be expected.

Still, Harry vowed to keep an eye on Artie despite the patrolling Bullywhips. As infuriated it made him that the jocks picked on Kurt and Blaine for being gay, overpowering a guy in a wheelchair took things to a whole new low.

Dave, and to a much lesser extent, Santana seemed to be avoiding him as the jocks appeared frustrated and completely out of ideas in the halls. Harry grinned cheerfully at the ones who were bold enough to make eye contact with him and knew that they were planning something big by the way they snarled and sneered back at him.

Catching sight of Dave meeting his gaze and making the conscious decision to turn around and flee was more than enough to put Harry in a bad mood. Nobody even knew who he really was here in Lima and physically Harry knew that he didn't have the most intimidating body shape- Dave had no reason to actively avoid him.

Unless, the sly part of Harry's mind whispered, he's afraid of something else about you. This, he determined, pretty much sucked because despite knowing what he did about Dave's somewhat sordid past antics Harry didn't find himself any less attracted to the larger teen.

At all.

The cherry of absolute annoyance on top of the sundae of hate that had become Harry's Wednesday came in the form of Blaine and Kurt cornering him in the back of the parking lot.

"_That's_ a happy face," Blaine said in greeting, leaning against the driver's side door of Harry's car. "Bad day?"

"Are you here to make it worse?"

Kurt smirked, looking sharp and catty. "Ohh, someone's _cranky_. Are we seeing the inner bitch you've been keeping caged with a posh accent and sickeningly polite mannerisms?"

Harry squinted back at him, scowling. "If you keep talking like that I'm going to burn your sparkly scarves- sequins, glitter or sheer fabric, all of them will suffer."

"We wanted to know if you wanted to try out for Glee Club," Blaine said quickly, stepping in between the two of them with a winsome smile. "Auditions are on Friday and Monday."

Kurt gave the scarf on his neck a protective caress. "We do already have the required number of members to qualify for Sectionals but a surplus of willing bodies might actually be a good thing. Just in case anyone ends up in Juvie again or has to transfer schools. Or impregnates someone else's significant other."

"Optimistic outlook you have there." Harry wasn't sure he wanted to know the stories behind half of those scenarios.

"It's called realism. Something _always_ happens."

Harry sighed as he fished his keys out of his jacket pocket. "As charming as it sounds I'm afraid I have absolutely no talent in the areas of singing or dancing."

"We have Finn, Mike and _Lauren_- you really don't have to be talented at all. You pretty much just have to be living," Kurt said with a roll of his eyes. Blaine bit his lip to keep from grinning too hard.

"Look, just think about it and if you want to go for it we'll help you choose a song over the weekend," he said kindly, wrapping a quick hand around Kurt's wrist and moving off of Harry's car. "We need to get to practice."

Harry waved them off tiredly, more than ready to make the drive to his temporary home and just collapse and think for a moment.

Coach Beiste shouted his name across the parking lot, jogging over with a kind smile. "I'm going to grab a couple of pizzas on the way home after practice if you want to join me for dinner, Potter. I should have a proper schedule made up by the end of next week and we can settle any meal plans after that."

Harry nodded, mostly relieved to not have to cook anything- living as the Dursleys' personal House Elf for sixteen years had given him a plethora of culinary skills and absolutely no will to want to use them. "That sounds perfect right now. I'll just complete my homework assignments or something until you get home."

Beiste gave him a familiar nod- the kind Kingsley and Moody and Tonks used to share before everything ended- and he watched her jog back to the open soccer field in the middle of the track circle.

The startlingly familiar form of Dave Karofsky- decked out in soccer shorts and a snug-fitting jersey made Harry groan in frustration as he smacked his forehead down against the steering wheel. He wished this didn't happen every time; that he didn't let attraction consume his better judgment and let it drag him straight into emotional attachments.

It had happened with Cho. It had happened with Ginny. It had definitely happened with Cedric- and well, to say that either of those had turned out well would be utterly false.

The drive to his empty basement apartment was silent and for the first time since landing in America, Harry felt lonely. He was orphaned in nearly every sense of the word with the only true family he's ever had sitting separate in two different countries.

He wanted Ron there, to- well definitely not talk about this. Ron wasn't exactly known for his emotional range or his ability to deal with any sort of romantic notions. Ron would be the one to make him laugh, to make it all feel a little less heavy.

Hermione was the one he needed to talk to, with her steadfast knowledge and sharp ear. Without thinking much beyond that need, Harry pulled into the driveway and dug around for his cell phone. He most definitely would not be running up Coach Beiste's telephone bill with calls to Canada and Australia.

Hermione picked up on the fourth ring, just as Harry slammed the door to his apartment shut.

"Hello? Harry?" she said, her voice raspy with sleep. "What's wrong?"

He winced, trying to figure out the time difference. "I'm sorry- did I wake you?"

"It is obscenely early," Hermione muttered, sounding more than a little exasperated. "I thought we were going to conference call on your Friday, my Saturday?"

That was the pact they'd made before being forced apart for a year- weekly telephone calls, even if it was just to listen to each other breathe. Which Ron had pointed out was really rather creepy and co-dependant but neither of them had been willing to face this year without some sort of pre-planned correspondence.

"Am I only allowed to call you on those days?" Harry teased weakly, dropping his knapsack with a thud on the kitchen floor. "Shall I have my people get in contact with your people and set up a schedule?"

"Oh bugger off," Hermione snapped and he could practically see her eye roll in his head the memory was so clear. "It's been naught ten days since we last spoke, surely you can't miss us so much already?"

Harry hummed something vague, reaching down to play at the loose thread on the cuff of his hoodie. He did miss them, although that wasn't exactly the sole reason for his impromptu call.

Hermione grew silent at his non-answer, shifting around and apparently getting comfortable for a long talk. "Tell me what's wrong- you're being pensive; you're only pensive when you're nurturing your disgustingly enormous guilt-complex."

"I'm trying to justify being physically attracted to someone who might not be the most…stand-up person."

It was Hermione's turn to hum at him. "Given the fact that you used 'person' as your descriptor I'm going to hazard a guess that we're talking about a boy."

The silence was telling.

"Has-has there been anyone since Cedric?" she asked, her voice small and unsure.

Harry took a deep, steadying breath. Cedric was a sore spot, even after all this time. He'd realized- days, hours, minutes, _seconds_- too late just what it was he'd felt with Cedric. What they could have had.

With Cedric he'd jumped too late, with Cho he'd jumped too early and with Ginny, he'd just jumped.

Harry's romantic life seemed to be filled to the brim up the uncharacteristic fault of horrifically bad timing.

"I can't understand it," he admitted quietly. "He's nothing like what we've faced; nothing as heinous as that but what he has done isn't so easily forgiven. So why am I still…"

"I think I have to ask what he's done," Hermione said as he trailed off. "It would be foolish of me to offer any kind of council when I don't even have the proper facts. Is he even interested?"

Harry sighed and settled back onto his couch to share with her everything he knew; the rampant homophobia, the mid-term transfer, Kurt, Blaine, Dave and the impossible way they've thrown themselves together in the unrelenting battlefield that was William McKinley High School.

Hermione kept quiet, only speaking to ask a pointed question or two before prompting Harry back into speech. He trailed off into a lighter, relieved silence and waited for his best friend to process everything he'd all but spewed out onto her lap.

"I think you're being far too hard on yourself," Hermione said after a long moment. Her words were stilted, as if she were choosing them with all the picky delicacy of a politician. "For one, attraction doesn't work the way you seem to think it does. You can't simply look at a 'good' person and decide that their morals correspond enough with yours to make a match. Opposites attract for a reason, you know."

Harry groaned at the clichéd reminder of his parents, for one. Even his best friends' own budding relationship was a tried and true example of opposites coming together to make a perfectly deranged fit.

"Secondly," Hermione continued, obviously ignoring his grave emotional distress, "you've never let the opinions of other people affect you and how you see the world. You've always given everyone the chance to prove their character to you and you've never denied someone a second chance at redemption. I sincerely hope that hasn't changed."

Merlin, now Harry felt absolutely horrible. Guilty and ashamed and somewhat humbled by Hermione's regard for him. "I certainly hope I haven't."

"I'm not saying you have to act on what you're feeling right now," she continued on, obviously gaining momentum. "You haven't even been at school a week and if he's truly as closeted as your friend Kurt has been saying then he's going to have a lot of issues. He's going to be scared, Harry. Not everyone can have your courage."

"Calm down, Hermione," he muttered, feeling somewhat put-out. "I'm obviously not going to jump the guy in the middle of the corridor at lunch. I just- I guess I just needed to be reminded that there are still people in the world who can change. For the better. It's nice."

"Hmm, yes it is rather uplifting, isn't it?" she agreed and Harry could hear the smile in her voice. A muffled noise in the background of the call broke the peaceful calm that had descended upon them. He listened as Hermione turned away from the mouth piece of the telephone to address whoever their conversation had awakened on her end.

"It's my mother- I have to get ready for school," Hermione said sadly. "I do hope it all works out, Harry. Try and stay out of trouble."

Harry scoffed, lifting his free arm up to rub at the back of his head. "I always try to stay out of trouble; it just never works."

She laughed. "Take care. I'll talk to you on Saturday."

"Take care," he murmured into his cell phone before ending the call.

Somehow, the silence in the apartment didn't feel so lonely anymore.

* * *

><p>Notes: I'm kind of worried that people might think I'm moving too fast with the HarryDave part of the story- which, to each their own, YMMV, whatever- but I do think that Harry's always been someone who learns from his past mistakes and who isn't afraid to go after what he wants.

Also, it's pretty much a physical thing at the moment. They have a strange, magnetic chemistry much to the mutual horror of the both of them. Dave's still dealing with a lot of self-hatred so being attracted to another guy really just feels like another blow to him right now and Harry's more romantic notions of love and attraction are at odds with what he knows is right. Because I can accept Dave's apology on the show and how neatly they seem to be tying up that storyline but I don't think his actions from season two can be so easily swept under the rug and forgotten.

They all need to deal with the fallout of that before they can more forward.

...why does it seem like my notes are growing longer with each part? Dear God.

Thanks for the wonderful reviews and for everyone who has put this story on alert. I'm going to try and get back to updating once a week now that real life has decided to take a nap.


	4. Part Four

**Love, Like Ghosts: A Glee/Harry Potter Crossover**

Pairing: Harry Potter/Dave Karofsky (as well as canon Finn/Rachel, Kurt/Blaine, Sam/Mercedes, Tina/Mike and maybe some hints of Brittany/Santana) I also totally support a Harry-Blaine friendship.

Summary: Pushing for change and left with their ruins of their only magic-based school, the Ministry of Magic passes a law that forces each Hogwarts student still awaiting graduation to spend one year attending a muggle school. Harry finds himself relocated to Lima, Ohio- where the football coach is a former-Auror, the cheerleading coach is absolutely certifiable and blatant discrimination and prejudices thrive in the cut-throat world of high school.

It's there, nestled in the pool of hatred and pettiness that Harry finds Mr. Shuester's Glee Club and finds himself with the dubious task of navigating their tumultuous web of friendships and relationships all while convincing one reformed bully that sometimes a little courage can go a long way.

Spoilers: Content from all seven Harry Potter books as well as all aired episodes of Glee will be used in this story. While this story is set in what would be the 3rd Season of Glee, everything is nothing more than mere speculation on my part. Glee spoilers are so ridiculously inconsistent that trying to follow them is futile.

Notes: This story seems to be picking up something that resembles a plot, if only because my brain wouldn't stop asking me why exactly Harry would even end up in the US and then I had to somehow try and make it work. There's going to have to be some sort of suspension of canon timelines, particularly that of the Harry Potter Universe because the events of all seven books have in fact taken place but Harry is still merely seventeen for a majority of this story. If that really needs an explanation, I'm debating on hitting on the 'age is strange concept for magical folks because they live exceedingly longer lives than muggles' or that the events of Books Six and Seven were condensed into one year. Or Harry's cover story makes it necessary for him to 'legally' be seventeen when he's really eighteen. (Although all that business with the Time-Turners and such in Book Three makes me wonder if Hermione would legally be considered older than her recorded age. Questions, questions and even more questions.)

For: The Plot Bunny Whisper because they asked for a Harry/Dave story and I was hella intrigued.

Thanks for all the wonderful reviews and for picking out any errors I'd missed in the last chapter. Sadly I only have me and my spell-check to run over this thing before I post so any help is greatly appreciated!

Warning: There are **homophobic characters** in this part and for the rest of the story. **_Absolutely none of the views of these characters reflect my own._** If you find you're sensitive to harsh language or physical/slushie violence, please turn back now.

Also, there are mentions of past Dave/Kurt and past Harry/Cedric. Both of these pairings will not have a huge impact on the story and can be pretty much ignored if they're not your cup of tea because they don't actually happen. If that makes any sense.

* * *

><p>Love, Like Ghosts<p>

Part Four

Thursday passed in a rush of tryouts for the McKinley Cheerios, the jocks and Glee Club. Harry found himself left alone for the most part- barring the bizarre lunch period incident in which Brittany pushed a large container of water towards him and demanded that he turn it into pink pina colada mix.

Of course, the seven inch, permanent markered 'FAG' coloured across the front of his locker was rather annoying, especially considering Harry's native slang.

"They do realize I'm British, right?" Harry had asked the scowling form of Santana as he gathered his books to head back home. "Where I'm from they literally just called me a cigarette. I'm embarrassed for them right now."

"Damn, they must have got here during third period," Santana snapped, eying the straggling students with a sharp, unforgiving eye. "Dave had some kind of safety and sportsmanship meeting with Beiste and Mr. Schue made us all wait in the choir room to see if anyone would show up to audition for Glee Club."

Harry picked at the edge bottom edge of the 'F' with his thumb nail. "It's fine- well, it's not fine but I'm hardly going to hold you responsible for this. There has to be a janitor's closet around here somewhere, right?"

Santana nodded and just over the top of his bright red beret, Harry caught sight of Dave's pale, pinched expression. His gaze slid like a physical thing, from Harry's face to the big, bold words one of the jocks had painstakingly imprinted onto his locker door before he bolted back down the way he'd come.

Without thinking, Harry let out a frustrated curse and asked, "Why in the hell is Dave avoiding me?"

Santana quickly peered over her shoulder but the hallway was empty behind her now, sticky stains of thrown slushie and missing homework littering the floor.

A sly, devious smirk greeted Harry as she turned back to face him, her teeth bright and white in the buzzing florescent lights of the halls. Harry immediately took a step back and cursed himself for showing any weakness.

"Why are you interested in my boyfriend, Potter? Got a secret you'd like to tell?"

"Boyfriend?" Harry really had to get a handle on his own damn mouth. "Aren't you both-"

Santana's smirk dropped into a furious, teeth-baring scowl. "I take it you've been talking to Kurt. Has Ricky Lake been telling you anything else you'd like to blurt out in the hallways?'

"It doesn't take a genius to see that you've got some sort of history with Brittany," Harry replied quietly, "and no you don't smell like a golf course."

The fact that Santana seemed to equate being a lesbian with golfing never failed to baffle him.

"Laugh it up, Polly Pocket," she sneered and Harry was struck with how insecure she truly looked when she was angry. "From what I can see, the closet is pretty crowded with the three of us in it."

"Technically, I'm not in the closet," he said quickly. "The only person who's legitimately asked about my sexuality was Puck and even then he only asked if I was gay."

"So spell it out for me," Santana replied, some of the anger bleeding out of her expression. "The million dollar question, the magic word- what is your sexuality?"

Harry pursed his lips for a moment, taking the time to actually think it out. "I've had two girlfriends in the past three years and a rather thrilling attraction to a boy who was a few years older than me. From what I can tell, both you and Puck seem to be the most…sensual of the Glee Club members that I've met and while I find the two of you physically attractive, I'm not attracted, per say."

"I'm noticing a lack of an actual answer here."

He frowned at her sharply. "I really dislike putting a label on something as fluid as one's sexuality but if it'll make you feel better I'd define myself as bisexual. Is there a word for people-sexual?"

Santana's confusion didn't seem to be easing. "Yeah, because that really made anything clear. Sounds to me like you just want to say you're gay to be hip."

Harry hoped his single raised eyebrow conveyed the disbelieving message of 'it's hip to be gay in Lima?' before he spoke. "You do realize that it's not as simple as just being gay, straight or bisexual right? LGBT isn't just an awesome anagram for Hangman. I actually think that anagram's been extended since I've last heard of it."

"Have you told Hummel or his Hobbit? Don't they kind of deserve to know?"

"I may not be wearing rainbow parachute pants to school every day but not being closeted doesn't mean I'm obligated to flash my gay card around everywhere," Harry said, making his way down towards the janitor's closet. Santana followed, keeping her eyes on the empty hallways as she listened. "Neither of them have asked because they seem to be some of the few people who get that my sexuality shouldn't matter so much in the great scheme of things."

He shrugged absently, searching for a bucket and a bottle of heavy-duty soap. "If they ask I'll answer honestly because I'm not hiding. Not like-"

"Some of us don't have it as easy," she said quietly, studying her nails in a manner similar to Kurt's. "You get to leave after this year is over. The rest of us are just hoping to escape come graduation."

The sound of water hitting the bottom of the bucket echoed in the small closet.

Harry winced, feeling guilty for his somewhat preachy words. "I'm sorry. I sometimes suffer from the terminal habit of hoping the best from a world that hardly ever is. It's not my place to judge or question you for wanting to hide your sexuality."

Santana rolled her shoulders anxiously, as coming down off of a confrontation. "Don't get all weepy on me now, Tiny Tim. Just wash your damn locker so we can get the hell out of here."

Harry kept quiet as he dipped the scrubbing sponge into the warm water and tackled the large, black F on his locker door. He knew truly that it wasn't his duty to pass judgment on however Santana and Dave dealt with keeping face in the light of Lima's harsh, prejudiced morals but quietly, in the back of his mind, he could hope that one day they'd realize they wouldn'tbe happy until they were true to themselves.

* * *

><p>"Well, this is a change," Coach Beiste called from the front door as Harry hit the locks on his car door. "Me home before you. Problems?"<p>

"Just cleaning up my locker," Harry said casually. He was not going to be one of those guys; the type to run crying to a teacher simply because a few jocks learned how to use a marker. And spell properly. "Something smells amazing."

"Spaghetti," Beiste admitted, looking sheepish. "Got tired of all the take-out we were going through because of try-outs. Want to join me?"

They did this rather often for two people who seemed to have very different, very busy schedules but Harry found Coach Beiste to be oddly refreshing after a long day of dealing with the floundering mess of drama, hate and hormones that was high school. "Of course."

Everything seemed to be in order as he dropped his knapsack to the floor and toed off his sneakers tiredly. Cleaning the offensive graffiti off of his locker had taken much longer than Harry had anticipated, particularly because Santana refused to leave him alone to do it. Scrubbing cauldrons at Hogwarts had made the job familiar but a quick flick of his wand would have certainly sped things up.

Coach Beiste handed him the plates and forks as she easily drained the pasta and gave the bubbling sauce one last stir. It wasn't until Harry was sitting at the only other chair at the kitchen table, happily twirling up a forkful of spaghetti, that he noticed the stack of unopened scrolls addressed to him.

"I've been meaning to talk to you about that," Coach Beiste said gruffly. "Got an owl today from the Ministry office- the one in charge of this exchange program. Apparently there's been a few changes."

Harry tried to slurp up his spaghetti quickly, bobbing his head in what he hoped look like an encouraging nod.

"Since you'd have been on the Quidditch team at Hogwarts and something they're calling an advanced DATDA studying group," Beiste smirked at him, obviously having been made aware that Dumbledore's Army had been more about preparing for the war than really studying. "You're going to have to join a few extracurricular groups at the school to graduate."

Harry groaned. "Honestly? Aren't try-outs for pretty much everything over already?"

Beiste nodded, twirling her fork awkwardly. Neither of them seemed well-suited for the graceful task of eating pasta it seemed. "Football's just about done and to be honest the best you could hope to get on that team is kicker. Soccer's done, hockey won't start until late October, early November- do you skate?"

"Not a lick."

Beiste frowned. "The best I can think to come up with is Track. Try-outs don't start until the middle of the month, they break for the winter and start up again in the spring. Not many of the football players take it either.'

"I'm guessing you've heard of my illustrious meetings with your players," Harry said, feeling somewhat nervous. He wasn't exactly sure of her stance on, well anything other than the war recovery effort back home and the Buckeye's chances of winning State.

Beiste sighed. "As much as I'd like to kick some of these guys off my team, most of them are in their senior year. If we take State again this could mean scholarships for more than a few of them."

"You can't beat the ignorance out of them," he replied, soothingly. "Surely it's getting better?"

She snorted, the sound loud and bitter. "Somehow I think it's worse. Last year the bullying, the taunting was more overt. I could ream a kid for being a bigot when I caught them but this year it's different. I'd almost be impressive by their loyalty to their team-mates and all-around ability to plan shit if it was for football."

Harry had noticed a strange, pressing sort of unity in the school; how people would turn their heads when slushies coated the walls, how the echoing bang of a dumpster top slamming down didn't startle anyone. The students were used to it, encouraged the blatant discrimination in McKinley High School with their silence.

It almost seemed to give them a horrifying sort of school spirit- the peers that bullied together, stayed together.

"There's only so much the Bullywhips can do," he added, taking a bite of his spaghetti as he tried to gauge her reaction.

Coach Beiste's face lit up into a charming smile at that. "Now there's a kid I'm proud to call one of my own. Last year," she shook her head, seemingly amazed, "Karofsky was damn mean. Biggest bully on the playground- it got bad enough that Hummel transferred and Dave was suspended for a while."

"He seems to have made an astonishing turnabout."

The grin widened. "I don't know what happened, maybe he just grew up but he and Lopez took to the halls like a pair of avenging angels. They used to escort Hummel to his classes before the whole Prom incident." Beiste tapped the prongs of her fork against her plate, her gaze distant. "I'm proud, damn proud that they've continued to try and be a positive influence this year."

Harry nodded, biting his lip as he yearned to ask if she'd even told Dave that. Validation and support from an authority figure-one he was sure the other teen had to respect in some capacity- would mean the world to someone in Dave's situation.

"So," he said, clearing his throat and changing the subject, "track. I suppose running for my life for the last year or so will certainly help with that."

Beiste looked torn between sympathy and amusement as she nodded at the scroll by his elbow. "Take a peek at your letter. My notice said something about encouraging you to take into account the different options your school could offer."

Curious and feeling more than a bit of foreboding, Harry broke the seal on his scroll and quickly skimmed the contents of the letter.

He groaned audibly.

Coach Beiste gave him a look. "What?"

"Having reviewed your extracurricular activates while attending Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, it has been determined that in order to ensure that you experience the entirety of the muggle school system and to compensate for the lack of after-school programs previously provided by Hogwarts, your graduation will require that you fulfill the following: a) enrol in one (1) school-supported sports team or club and b) enrol in one school-supported arts or academic team or club," Harry peered over the top of the scroll anxiously. "Who decides these things? As if adjusting to muggle schooling wasn't hard enough already."

"People who sit in an office all day and get overpaid to do a job a couple of kids can and did do better," Beiste replied, giving Harry a knowing look he studiously ignored. It still felt weird when people praised him for doing what he had been destined to do.

"Well, Track will have the sports angle covered," he said, trailing a finger down the side of the parchment as he thought. "What are my Arts/Academic choices?"

"I know for a fact that we have a Jazz band, a marching band, the A/V club, after-school tutoring, drama club, The Brainiacs, Renaissance Club, Speech Club, Mock UN and a bunch of other religious and ethnic groups."

Any club involving the need to play a musical instrument was automatically out. The same went for anything involving public speaking, acting or outlandish dressing up- just the thought of having to give a speech made Harry's skin prickle uncomfortably. Electronics seemed to short-circuit around his magic, easily eliminating the A/V club and growing up attending school in a bona fide castle certainly took the glamour out of the idea of the Renaissance Club.

That left tutoring and…

Glee Club.

"Kurt and Blaine are going to be unbearable tomorrow," Harry said morosely, mentally nixing the tutoring idea- they hadn't even really begun to learn anything new at school at all. There was no way he'd be able to academically keep up with a club that called themselves The Brainiacs either.

Beiste laughed, clearing away the last of her spaghetti. "Well, if you can put up with Will Schuster's need to try and connect with everyone I'm sure you'll be fine. Can you sing?"

"No," he replied, feeling more than a little panicked. "Kurt assured me that no _actual_ talent was necessary."

"Might be different this year, what with them having had a taste of Nationals in June," she said cautiously, "Will mentioned that the club's membership had swelled considerably since its first year. That might make them a bit more selective."

"If I absolutely bomb trying out for the Glee Club, I can always fall back on the tutoring," Harry suggested, mentally adding the right to taunt the hell out of any jocks he might end up with. The Slytherin in him eagerly crowed that turnabout is always fair play.

* * *

><p>Friday morning dawned with the thrum of excitement that only the start of the weekend could bring.<p>

Unfortunately the exhilaration of the school year's first weekend seemed to inspire the more antagonistic jocks into action, if the six red-jacketed teens blocking the side-entrance to the school were anything to go by.

Harry eyed them archly, letting his gaze flicker to the dumpsters just to be safe. The lids were firmly shut, their edges baring the twisted marks of many attempts to pry them open. "Were you waiting here for me? How sweet, I think I'm blushing."

Azimio sneered at him as Cooper crackled his knuckles behind him, his face scrunched up in disgust.

"Gonna make this easy or hard, fag?" he asked and Harry felt a hot, heavy lick of fury on his spine as Strando pulled a long length of bright white rope from behind his back.

Neither the vague threat of physical violence or the thought of being tied down scared Harry. He'd been tortured, suffered under the worst pain imaginable at the hands of a madman and his cohorts. He'd been forced to watch as a dear friend was murdered, as his own blood was stolen from his body and used to raise his worst enemy from immaterial existence.

He'd walked to his death alone and come back to finish Voldemort once and for all. Nothing these juvenile, ignorant creeps could ever think to do to him would trump that.

"I've never been fond of taking the easy way out," Harry said steadily, shifting his feet apart to balance his weight. "I guess this is the part where I say 'bring it', right?"

Unlike their other prey, Harry wasn't afraid to fight back either. When Cooper grabbed for his leg, Harry kicked out fiercely, catching the taller teen in the side with the flat bottom of his sneaker. Another jock took the book-heavy bottom of Harry's knapsack to the side of his head before Azimio wrenched his arm painfully up and behind his back.

"Grab his legs, Strando. Jesus!"

Mindful of his wand, still tucked snugly to the underside of his forearm, Harry jerked his head back and caught Azimio in the chin with the top of his head just as a familiar voice bellowed across the small courtyard.

"What the hell is going on here?" Dave snapped, losing his beret as he stalked down the small, cement pathway from the double-doors to the edge of the parking lot. "Z, let him go. Strando, what the fuck are you doing with _rope_ on school property?"

The school doors slammed open as Santana ran out to join them, looking a bit ridiculous as she glared down the group of jocks; each one seemed to tower over her.

Harry jerked himself out of their hold, bending down to scoop up his knapsack as Azimio tried to stop his mouth from bleeding too heavily and Cooper stayed hunched over, one hand pressed against the ground.

"I'm actually starting to think you're stalking me," Harry said faintly, shaking his arm out. "It's a little creepy to be honest."

Santana rolled her eyes at him. "Artie heard Jameson and Strando talking in the locker room this morning. About how they were going to tie you to the bottom of the bleachers and leave you there."

"It's freaking _Friday_, dude," Dave added, his brows furrowed in anger. "What if no one had found him? You'd be willing to throw away your chance at a scholarship over a stupid stunt like this?"

"What in the hell happened to you, man?" Azimio asked through bloody lips, ruining the sleeve of his brand new letterman jacket as he tried to mop up the mess on his chin. "You used to be cool- now you're just some loser in a pink coat. Like fucking Hummel."

"It's bullshit, Z," Dave said and Harry watched as the anger in his voice quelled to a heart-wrenching pleading. "Jesus, man- kids have killed themselves over less than this. This isn't just high school anymore, it's real life and this kind of crap hurts people."

Azimio pulled his jacket sleeve from his mouth, his lips already discoloured and swelling. "Fuck you, Dave. You think someone out there isn't going to wail on these losers? Sometimes you gotta beat other people down to get out on top. To be cool."

Harry scoffed in disbelief. "No, I'm pretty sure slamming down on someone who is barely half your size only makes you an asshole."

"Suck it up, Adams," Santana spat as the larger teen made a move for Harry again. "We've got a date with Figgins and Besite."

"For fuck's sake, Karofsky- you really going to haul us in?" Strando asked, looking ridiculously put-out for a guy who was holding a disturbing length of rope. "Over this queer?"

Dave's eyes slid from his former friends, from a large part of most of his teams, to meet Harry's gaze head on. Whatever he saw seemed to buffer him, straighten his shoulders proudly. "Yeah, man. Come on."

Azimio's expression crumpled into an ugly, furious contempt. "We are fucking done, Dave. I ever see your face outside of class or off the field, I'm gonna punch it."

Dave seemed to ignore the bile spewing from the bleeding jock, jerking his thumb out towards the side-entrance. Harry gave him a small, tight smile.

"And _he's_ calling _me_ gay."

Dave snorted, the sound too bitter for Harry to stomach. He supposed having to haul the guy who used to be your best friend into the principal's office wouldn't really make for much of a good mood, nor who having said friend publicly disown you.

"I'm sorry," he said quietly as they fell behind the group of surly teenage boys Santana had somehow single-handedly corralled into the school. "I know he's your friend but you have to know that he isn't right and he isn't a true friend if he can drop you so easily."

"Don't you have a class to get to?" Dave asked him harshly, his hazel-green eyes dark and angry. "Just- leave me alone and stop getting into trouble."

He quickly pulled out of sync with Harry's stride, hauling Strando physically up the hallway and into Principal Figgins' office with the same sort of single-minded intensity Harry absently hoped he brought to the football field.

"Well," he said to himself, standing alone in the middle of the hallway. "That went well."

* * *

><p>Blaine found him during the seven-minute break between morning classes, beating his head gently against the wall next to the sign-up board.<p>

"Should I even ask what you've done now?"

Harry let the back of his head hit the wall with a thump as he gestured towards the graffiti-ed Glee Club sign-up sheet with a groan. "It's the last act of a desperate man."

"I thought you weren't interested in singing with us," Blaine said as he studied Harry's hastily scrawled name under his own and the added taunts from the general public. Fairy McFag-a-lot certainly wasn't an actual student at the school after all.

"I'm not really all the fussed either way when it comes to singing and dancing," Harry replied dully. "However, my exchange program has made it mandatory for me to sign up for at least one academic or arts club as well as one sports team. Believe me when I say that this is truly my only option."

Blaine frowned at the tone of Harry's voice. "Surely the idea of Glee Club can't be that bad?"

He hoped it was just nerves, maybe even a bit of embarrassing excitement that made Harry talk as if liking singing was well, weird. It was beginning to make Blaine feel uncomfortable.

"Oh, wonderful," Harry muttered, looking sheepish. "I seem to be pissing people off left and right lately. I really need to stop speaking sometimes."

Well, Blaine certainly knew what those days were like. He smiled and decided to cut Harry a little slack. "Maybe it'll ease your nerves to watch an audition in real time? I've got mine today after school- it's mostly a formality but you'll get a chance to see how it's done."

"Blaine, I literally do not have an ounce of musical talent in this tiny body," he said a touch desperately. "None. The last time I was forced to follow choreography my dance partner told me I moved like a mounted metal pole."

Encouragement and emotional support, now this was something Blaine could do. He patted Harry's shoulder with a bright smile. "I'll get Kurt to help us."

"You haven't been listening to a word I just said, have you?"

Blaine pleasantly ignored him, dragging them both down the hallway to their next class.

* * *

><p>The rest of the day passed in a haze of noise as the general population of McKinley High School was safe from nefarious flying slushies what with a large portion of the jocks already serving their two week detentions at lunch and after school.<p>

Chemistry class ended abruptly barely twenty minutes into the period when Puck kind of blew up a small, unused desk and the teacher nearly wet himself with glee. Harry watched as his lab partner snuck out of the smoky classroom with a devilish grin on his face while Principal Figgins rambled anxiously on about 'safety regulations' and 'lawsuits' before giving the rest of them a free period.

Stuck without a class to attend or even more than a general sort of knowledge of the school's layout, Harry found himself drifting aimlessly towards the auditorium. Auditions would be held there despite the fact that the Glee Club seemed to practice mostly in the choir room of the Arts section of the school.

Much to his surprise, the stage was occupied by a group of students painting sets and hooking up wires to microphones and large stereo speakers.

Lauren Zizes gave him a long look from under her purple beanie. "Puckerman blow up the Chem class again?"

Harry blinked back at her for a moment, stunned. "Yes, well he blew up a spare desk."

"Sweet, that's the signal," she looked back over the freshmen students splattered in paint and paper mache. "Keep an eye on the dweebs for me?"

Harry didn't think a small group of fourteen year olds needed much supervision here but he'd been fourteen once and that really hadn't been a pleasant year. "I guess?"

Lauren looked down at him, her gaze considering. "God, who are you kidding? You're obscenely short. It's tragic."

"There's nothing _obscene_ about my average height," Harry replied, scowling. "Don't you have to go meet Puck somewhere?"

Lauren hummed, a vicious looking smirk crossing her face. "Yeah, Puckerman gets clingy if I leave him hanging in the supply closet for too long. Catch you later, Short Stock- I gotta get me some tail."

Harry watched her leave, mouth slightly agape as he tried to process the last thirty seconds of their entire conversation. Lauren and Puck…it really made a strange amount of sense.

Somehow.

The A/V Club generally kept to themselves, throwing Harry a couple of strange looks as he shuffled back to the middle row of seats and waited patiently for the final bell to ring.

Tina and Mike were the first to show up, smiling at each other and walking hand-in-hand through the double-doors of the auditorium. Harry gave them a small nervous wave as they edge closer and flopped down on his right.

"If you weren't British, we'd totally being calling a Jesse St. James on you right now," Tina told him, sprawling out on Harry's right. Mike took the seat beside her, his face creased with a friendly smile.

Harry blinked at the pair of them, feeling slow and sleepy as he tried to pull himself out of the stupor boredom had thrown over his mind. "Is that a pop culture reference I should know?"

"More of a large footnote in the Guidebook to McKinley's Glee Club Relationship Polygon," Mike replied, helpfully unhelpful.

"That should totally be in the introduction package they hand out at the office," Sam added, startling Tina as he hopped over the back of the seat next to Mike. Mercedes followed his lead at a more sedate, sane pace.

Harry also figured it would have been rather painful to try seat jumping in the five-inch heels currently adorning her feet.

"There'd be sub-sections based on relationship length and if the couple in question had just hooked up or impregnated someone," Tina added quietly, her waving hand a sharp contrast to her voice as Kurt and Blaine hurried down the auditorium's long walkway.

"Harry, you made it!" Blaine waved frantically at him, his grin reminding Harry of an over-excited canine. Kurt dragged him determinedly down the walkway by his tie.

"You can go play mentor after you've aced this audition."

"I only play mentor _for you_."

"Oh my _God_, Blaine. Seriously?"

"What?"

The rest of the Glee club joined them, in groups of twos or threes. Puck and Lauren looked disturbingly mellow as they slunk into the auditorium like two pleased, sated cats. Quinn, Brittany and Santana walked in like a glossy trinity of female power and persuasion while Finn and Rachel had to be the most comical couple to ever grace the halls of William McKinley High School.

"Whenever I see them, I always wonder how they're ever going to have sex," Brittany told him in her absent, honest way. "Santana says Finn is going to smother Rachel with his manboobs."

Harry'd never been more thankful when Quinn pulled Brittany away from his side to sit in the back next to Lauren and Puck. Santana shot him a lecherous grin and a sassy lick of her lips as she linked pinkies with Brittany and gave the stage a bored glance.

"Mr. Schue and Coach Sylvester were yelling at each other in the hallway, I think he's going to be late," Finn said, squinting at nothing as he spoke. "She was making fun of his hair again."

"This should give Kurt and Blaine plenty of time to set up and perfect their performance," Rachel added swiftly, staring at the drawn, red curtain on the stage as if she could actually see through it. "They have to take advantage of every second of preparation time available to them."

Harry figured it was perfectly normal to be somewhat wary of Rachel's intense love of musical theatre and performing.

"Why are we having an audition for a dude we know can sing?" Sam asked them again, sitting sprawled between Mercedes and Mike.

"We've all had to audition for Glee Club, it's only proper that we let Blaine do the same," Rachel said archly. "We can't just let anyone in."

"I didn't audition," Mike said quietly. Puck and Lauren made harmonized noises of agreement.

"Have we ever _not_ let someone join?" Tina asked absently, playing with the tips of her highlights- pink this week. Harry felt a bit better when Rachel frowned and refused to answer the question.

Mr. Schuester greeted them all with a wide, overly-excited smile-his hair mussed and hanging limply over his forehead- as he set the thick book all teachers seemed to carry with them everywhere down onto the single desk in the middle of the auditorium.

"Everyone's here? Awesome!"

Harry gave the man a small wave as he frowned at the obvious addition to his club.

"Harry's going to be auditioning on Monday," Rachel said quickly, taking over the whole introduction conversation before anyone else could really think to. "He's from England and he's pro-gay."

"Oh God, does she even understand the words 'social boundaries'?" Harry asked, directing the question to his right. Artie shuffled the wheels on his chair anxiously.

"Not really. Over-sharing is the Rachel Berry model for life, man."

"Whenever you're ready guys," Mr. Schue called out towards the closed curtain. Kurt's hand appeared, flashing them a 'five minutes' sign.

A couple of the glee members groaned in dismay. Finn flopped over the top of Harry's and Tina's seats with a sigh. "I'm bored."

"Go be bored somewhere else," Tina said with a roll of her eyes, pushing at Finn's face. She gave Harry a deceptively friendly-looking smile, considering her outfit consisted of what looked like the love-child of Lockhart's and Trelawney's wardrobes.

"So how is it? Living with The Beiste?"

Harry shrugged, not quite sure what the big deal was. "Fine, I suppose. I live in her basement so really it's not as if I actually live with her. She's what amounts to my sponsor for the school year."

"I heard she works out eight hours a day and watches nothing but plays of championship football games," Mike said, peering out around his girlfriend to get some sort of confirmation from him.

Harry grimaced; he'd had enough of the rumour mills at Hogwarts before he'd even left to come to America. Gossip it seemed, was a universal language.

"Besides making strangely aggressive sports metaphors and being unfairly taller than me, I can pretty much disprove that theory right there."

Mike looked ridiculously put-out by the news.

A flustered but smiling Kurt interrupted any other questions the curious Glee Club members might have had for Harry as he hopped happily down the side-stairs of the stage and took a seat in the row ahead of Sam, Mercedes, Harry, Tina and Mike.

"Sorry, there was a problem with the sound system," he said briskly, smoothing his palms down his legs to get rid of any wrinkles. "We're good to go now."

"You fix it with your mouth?" Santana drawled, running the tip of her finger over her own lips. Kurt tried to look nonchalant, giving himself away as the flush on his cheeks grew darker.

"Don't be crude, Santana. Not everything is solved with sex."

"I was talking about kissing, McQueen- you're the one with the dirty mind this time."

"I don't want to hear this anymore," Finn said loudly, looking trapped and more than a little traumatized.

"What's he singing?" Mercedes finally asked and Harry leant forward to hopefully get a hint as to what in the world he could possibly hope to do to strike a chord with the club.

Kurt clapped his hands together excitedly as he turned towards them. "It's the Aaron Tveit version of 'I'm Alive' from-"

"The Broadway Musical 'Next To Normal'," Rachel said gleefully, her eyes wide and shining.

Kurt shot her look so full of fond irritation, Harry had to laugh.

"A freaking musical?" Puck said, scowling at the stage. "Like we don't already hear enough of those from the two of you."

"'Next To Normal' is considered more of a rock musical than what you're thinking," Kurt said quickly, arching his head back to peer at everyone sitting behind him. "Condensed, it's about a mother struggling with bipolar disorder and how her illness affects her family."

"'I'm Alive' is sung by the woman's son, Gabriel," Rachel continued, seemingly unable to not take over any conversation involving Broadway musicals. "It's later revealed that Gabriel is a hallucination of the son who had died sixteen year previous."

Puck gave her a startled, perturbed look. "Damn, that's harsh. Why aren't we all singing more songs like that?"

Whatever Rachel was about to say stopped as the sound of an electric guitar echoed throughout the auditorium. Kurt and Rachel scooted forward excitedly as the soft strumming grew louder and Blaine stepped out from behind the red curtain with a grin.

If easing Harry's nerves had been the goal, Blaine was an utter failure at it. Harry watched in astonished awe as Blaine bounced around the stage energetically, singing with ease and seamlessly pulling in the rest of the Glee Club- who cheered and clapped when he hit a sudden long-held note.

The song was delightfully dark with a strangely up-beat tempo. Harry found himself clapping to the same beat as Finn, Puck and Sam, grinning so wide his cheeks ached.

The jovial expression slid off his face as Blaine hit the climax of the song and one particular phrase stuck out vividly to Harry's ear.

"_If you won't grieve me, you can't leave me behind!"_

A band of irrational grief gripped tightly around his lungs, stealing him away from the energetic support of the Glee Club and Blaine's smooth voice.

He'd known, on some deeper level of consciousness, that the events of the past two years- of Harry's whole life if he thought about it too hard- had never really gotten the chance to sink in. Being the hero, being the Chosen One, Harry had come to expect the painful drag of loss year after year.

Voldemort had taken his parents before Harry could even rightly remember anything other than his father's desperation or his mother's staunch bravery. The Dursleys had taken his childhood, his freedom, even his basic ability to mentally be a normal, easily-adjusted person. He always wanted to make things better, to help those who could never seem to help themselves all the time and the cycle seemed to be continuing here at McKinley.

Hermione's 'saving people' remark had never seemed more accurate.

A gentle touch to the back of his hand startled Harry out of his thoughts as Tina's dark gaze met his own. "Are you okay?"

"Fine," he said quickly, his voice far too tight to be truthful. Thankfully their relatively new friendship kept Tina's curiosity at bay as she slid her fingers off his hand and turned back to cheer on Blaine.

Harry took a deep breath and tried to push away his morbid thoughts. He was trying to learn something here, to make friends and move on from the devastation that had become his life back at Hogwarts.

Now was not the time to let grieve and anger overwhelm him- his dead were gone and buried and it was time to move on.

Blaine's song choice, it turned out, was more of a raging theme for Harry's psyche than he seemed comfortable with.

The furiously ecstatic sound of clapping startled him from his thoughts as Blaine bowed gallantly from his spot at center-stage and the rest of the Glee Club surged to its feet. Mr. Schue looked as if someone had given him a BMW full of adorable adopted kittens.

"I think it's a unanimous decision from here," he said, giving Blaine a slow, easy clap of his own. "Welcome to New Directions."

Kurt looked ready to burst into exceptionally happy tears, his face spilt with a wide smile.

Harry shook his head. "I'm doomed."

"You can come by my place tomorrow," Kurt replied, turning his beaming expression upon Harry. "Blaine suggested that you might need a little support and my dad will be more likely to let Blaine come over to my empty house if I tell him you'll be there too."

"Kinky threesome action already," Santana called out, smirking. With her red jacket and devious eyebrows, Harry couldn't help but be reminded of a demon. Or a succubus.

"Not everyone who happens to like to be around me and Blaine is gay, Santana," Kurt said imperiously. His gaze flickered to Harry's face nervously, almost as if he were afraid that the teasing would upset him.

Santana only shot Harry a curiously quirked eyebrow. He knew she wouldn't out him in the middle of the auditorium- not without the fear that Harry would be vindictive enough to give her a taste of her own medicine- but her expression only seemed to choke Harry with a strange sense of guilt.

He hadn't found the time to tell Kurt or Blaine of his own sexuality and a part of him wished regretfully that he could be the one straight guy who seemed to have no problem with them.

Resolve filled him as he gave Kurt a firm nod. "What time do you want me there?"

* * *

><p>"So wait, you get the owl and decide to join a <em>show choir<em>?"

"Ron, stop laughing," Hermione said, her tone heavy with disapproval. "I think it's wonderful."

"Thanks, _Hermione_," Harry replied pointedly, as Ron cackled gleefully in the background. "It's not like I had many options."

"I'm just joshing you, Harry," he said with a gasping chuckle. "You don't think it's kind of surreal how we were fighting Death Eaters a few months ago and now Hermione's taken up snorkelling, I'm living in Canada and Harry's bored enough to start singing and dancing in public."

"When you put it like that, we sound relatively well-adjusted," Hermione said after a moment's pause.

"Or ready to explode at a moment's notice," Harry couldn't help but add. "What about the two of you? What are you joining up with?"

Ron seemed to have found a kinship with his cousins from Canada, explaining in detail exactly how one played ice hockey to a knowledgeable Hermione and an uninterested Harry. His father's love of muggle technology had obviously been passed on in Ron's excitement over finding his school's Robot Wars Club.

Hermione had signed up to join the swim team- all girls she'd added when Ron had tried to not-so-subtly inquire as to who would be seeing his girlfriend in her bathing suit- while she hosted the school's first ever Book Club.

"Just don't make any more pins for people to wear and you'll be fine," Ron suggested tactlessly as Harry tried not to laugh at Hermione's outraged spluttering.

The light-hearted mood seemed to grow heavy as the teasing and excitement of their latest adventures wore down and thoughts of home snuck back in to the forefront of their minds.

"How's everyone?" Harry asked, directing the question more to Ron than Hermione. From that week's previous phone call, he knew things between Hermione and her parents were oddly strained already.

"Coping, I guess," Ron muttered sadly. "George had a fit and tried to sell the shop. Angelina just barely talked him out of it. Ginny's already dating some bloke at her school- I swear that girl needs a keeper."

Harry rolled his eyes- Ron's over-protective tendencies were rather stifling and borderline offensive at the best of times. Unfortunately, Harry knew first-hand that Ginny did have a tendency herself to date around.

"The terrorist attacks have slowed down," Hermione said quietly, trying to cover the awkward pause that had fallen at the mention of Ron's sister. "Kingsley is hopeful that is means that the extremists have lost their steam."

"Or they're simply gaining up for a bigger show of power," Harry pressed his lips together in thought. As much as it pained him to think that way, if he were on the other side of things, a lull in the attacks- a false sense of security- is exactly the way he'd go about things.

"I'd forgotten just how cheerful you get," Ron said waspishly, "like an explosion of sunshine and glitter, this one is."

There was a commotion of noise on one of the lines as Hermione quickly shouted, "I'm coming, just let me say goodbye!"

"My parents," she said a touch awkward, "we're going out apparently. I- we'll speak again next week, yes?"

"Of course," Ron and Harry replied, their voices harmonizing perfectly. "Same time, same day."

"Wonderful. I've got- I'm _coming_!- Good bye Ron, Harry."

The click of the line being cut off was sudden and startling. Harry took a moment to pull back and physically look at his cell phone. "Has Hermione mentioned anything to you about her parents being weird?"

"Not really," Ron said, dully. "Something's wrong though. "I've never heard her raise her voice to her mum or her dad. Ever. She adores them."

"Should we ask, you think?" Harry wasn't exactly experienced in how someone reconnected with their parents after wiping their memories clean of your very existence. Or at even having parents at all really.

"It might upset her if we ask- well, if I ask," Ron said quickly. "So maybe you should take this one."

"I don't have parents, Ron," he said, feeling exasperated. "Maybe the two of you can bond of bouts of teenage rebellion."

"It's Hermione, mate- you honestly think she's doing any kind of rebelling?"

That was a bit of a tough one; on one hand, it _was_ Hermione. She adored rules and following them. She was a stickler for listening to authority figures and an all-around good girl.

On the other hand, it was _Hermione_. The one who'd gotten them past most of the trials to get to the Sorcerer's Stone, the witch who'd brewed them a Polyjuice Potion on the off chance that Malfoy was the Heir of Slytherin. They'd helped an Azkaban convict escape Hogwarts and broken into the Ministry twice. They'd broken into Gringrotts together.

Okay, so maybe they had a bad habit of tempting Hermione into bouts of teenage rebellion then.

"I'll say something to her next week," Harry promised, if only because Ron would no doubt phrase it in the most accidentally offensive way.

Quickly saying their goodbyes, Harry tossed his cell phone onto the couch cushion beside him and sighed. His life was getting far too complicated and he hadn't even auditioned for Glee Club yet.

Dear Merlin.

* * *

><p>Notes: I have more than a few things to explain right now. First of all, my long absence. Which isn't totally my fault when you take into account that I've somehow managed to come down with Tennis Elbow in my right arm and sprain my left wrist all in the span of a week. It's been a long time trying to recoup from that. I had two whole weeks where I couldn't move either of my arms much further than a T-Rex could.<p>

Second, I know some readers are going to be disappointed that Harry is joining the Glee Club. It doesn't feel like a Glee story if there's not some sort of celebration of great music. Who knows- maybe he'll quit, maybe it'll be just a part-time thing, maybe he'll get stage fright at Sectionals and run all the way back to the UK. Right now, Glee Club is an obligation he needs to use to graduate.

Which brings me to my third point, the Extra-Circular Notice. I know it sounds like a trite plot line to make Harry need to join up with the Glee Club BUT it's also something that has happened personally to me. Let us enter Cool Story, Bro territory. When I was in the eighth grade, I applied to go to this leadership summer camp program. It was pretty much a place for giant nerds like me to learn more awesome life skills and hang out with other nerds and the occasional dork. Either way, I applied early in the year and got my acceptance letter just before we broke for the winter holidays. All that was required of me was to keep my grades up and progress onto high school.

Until, that is, I received a letter in March that I would also have to show proof that I was taking part in two or more after-school programs- one for academic/arts and one for sports. Thankfully, I was already a part of my school's choir but the sports angle was a pretty big issue considering my school wasn't big enough to have a competitive team of any kind. In fact, the only sports teams in my whole area were the boys hockey team or figure skating- neither of which I could do or afford.

The moral of the story ended up with me not getting to go to the awesome camp and becoming somewhat bitter against any and all admissions offices. Tim Horton's Camp pretty much did the same thing to my little sister just last year- they let her attend the first year of camp, sent her a leadership admissions form and then promptly decided she didn't qualify for their camp.

Finally, I'm going to try and link to each song I mention in this story in my profile. Somehow. If anyone has any better ideas as to how I can make this a Glee story without turning it into one of those annoying song!fics where you spend 80% of your time scrolling past irritating chunks of italic-ed song lyrics, please let me know! I also update the word count of what I currently have written- not posted!- so if you're ever wondering if I'm still writing you can check it out there!

Thanks again!


	5. Part Five

**Love, Like Ghosts: A Glee/Harry Potter Crossover**

Pairing: Harry Potter/Dave Karofsky (as well as canon Finn/Rachel, Kurt/Blaine, Sam/Mercedes, Tina/Mike and maybe some hints of Brittany/Santana) I also totally support a Harry-Blaine friendship.

Summary: Pushing for change and left with their ruins of their only magic-based school, the Ministry of Magic passes a law that forces each Hogwarts student still awaiting graduation to spend one year attending a muggle school. Harry finds himself relocated to Lima, Ohio- where the football coach is a former-Auror, the cheerleading coach is absolutely certifiable and blatant discrimination and prejudices thrive in the cut-throat world of high school.

It's there, nestled in the pool of hatred and pettiness that Harry finds Mr. Shuester's Glee Club and finds himself with the dubious task of navigating their tumultuous web of friendships and relationships all while convincing one reformed bully that sometimes a little courage can go a long way.

Spoilers: Content from all seven Harry Potter books as well as all aired episodes of Glee will be used in this story. While this story is set in what would be the 3rd Season of Glee, everything is nothing more than mere speculation on my part. Glee spoilers are so ridiculously inconsistent that trying to follow them is futile.

Notes: This story seems to be picking up something that resembles a plot, if only because my brain wouldn't stop asking me why exactly Harry would even end up in the US and then I had to somehow try and make it work. There's going to have to be some sort of suspension of canon timelines, particularly that of the Harry Potter Universe because the events of all seven books have in fact taken place but Harry is still merely seventeen for a majority of this story. If that really needs an explanation, I'm debating on hitting on the 'age is strange concept for magical folks because they live exceedingly longer lives than muggles' or that the events of Books Six and Seven were condensed into one year. Or Harry's cover story makes it necessary for him to 'legally' be seventeen when he's really eighteen. (Although all that business with the Time-Turners and such in Book Three makes me wonder if Hermione would legally be considered older than her recorded age. Questions, questions and even more questions.)

For: The Plot Bunny Whisper because they asked for a Harry/Dave story and I was hella intrigued.

Thanks for all the wonderful reviews and for picking out any errors I'd missed in the last chapter. Sadly I only have me and my spell-check to run over this thing before I post so any help is greatly appreciated!

Warning: There are **homophobic characters** in this part and for the rest of the story. **_Absolutely none of the views of these characters reflect my own._** If you find you're sensitive to harsh language or physical/slushie violence, please turn back now.

Also, there are mentions of past Dave/Kurt and past Harry/Cedric. Both of these pairings will not have a huge impact on the story and can be pretty much ignored if they're not your cup of tea because they don't actually happen. If that makes any sense.

* * *

><p>Love, Like Ghosts<p>

Part Five

He'd known since just before that memorable birthday wish for a pair of sensible, stylish heels that his son, his baby boy, was gay.

Mollie had always known, or so it had felt, when Burt had crawled into bed beside her and tried not to cry furious, heartbroken tears. She'd soothed his fears and strictly cut off his stupid high-school-jock way of thinking with a stern, "he's your son. Just love him, no matter how hard it feels, and the rest will sort itself out."

Kurt had been too young to really notice it when Burt had pulled away, unsure of how to deal with a little boy who'd rather plan weddings and tea parties than toss a football around the front yard. Mollie seen right through him, her gaze always so wide-eyed and disappointed as she tried to make up for his absence.

Burt figured it wouldn't matter so much that he couldn't be there for Kurt when his mother always was.

Until one day, she wasn't.

They don't talk about the bombshell Paul Karofsky had unwittingly dropped in Figgins' office that day. Kurt knew but refused to acknowledge the fact that those hateful, disgusting, hurtful words had ever passed his father's dumb, childish mouth. Words that made Burt's chest ache and squeeze in the mockery of that damn heart attack. Words he'd heard shouted in frustrated, misguided fury from Finn's throat.

It wasn't until he was the _sole_ parent of a gay kid that Burt actually _became_ the parent of a gay child. He sat in on Kurt's tea parties, confused and uncomfortable but smiling as his son clinked their plastic glasses together and beamed at him.

He didn't feel that bubbling hopeful feeling when Kurt asked to learn how to ride a bike and he wiped away the tears from those soft, rounded cheeks when the whole thing went south.

_Just love him_, Mollie had said and Burt found that in the end he always had.

It wasn't until Lima passed judgment on Kurt that Burt became a _proud_ parent of a gay teenage boy.

People left him flyers, pamphlets on summer camps that 'fixed' the 'confused boys' like Kurt. People he'd gone to school with, had drank and laughed and grew up with, offered their fucking condolences that Burt's son had turned out that way- as if he'd died or damn well killed someone.

Like his baby boy was made _wrong_ somehow.

He started talking back, building on that hardass persona from his jock days and morphing it into being a dad again. He tossed the flyers before Kurt could find them, he refused business when customers started talking about his son like that. He fired guys for their careless words, until only a select few had earned their right to stay in his shop.

When Kurt finally, _finally_ said those words to him, Burt sagged in relief. It wasn't the thing they'd never talk about, the shadow hanging over every phone call Kurt hung up on and every bag of those horrible pamphlets Burt burned in secret.

The look of embarrassed, terrified awe on Kurt's face when Burt had said "I know" had damn near killed him. Finding the suitcase, packed with every thing his boy would have needed to get away, stuffed in the hallway closet that night had been worse.

For whatever reason, Kurt had thought, had feared that his own father would kick him out for being exactly who he was. Burt had felt cold and ashamed as he gently pushed the suitcase back into the closet and checked for it again the next night.

He'd had to check for a whole week before Kurt found the nerve to unpack his things and hope he could stay.

Burt had resolved to do better. However he could.

That didn't mean that they didn't mess it up more than once. Between Finn and Carole, Finn and Kurt, Burt and his own damn heart, McKinley and Dalton; they were more than ready for things to be normal. To be good.

Oddly enough, the time for that seemed to be _now_.

They'd somehow taken two half-families and made them whole. Carole was his wife and while they'd never replace the precious people they'd lost, they'd made new places in each other's lives. Finn and Kurt argued like they'd damn near been raised together and for once their outside relationships seemed to be steady and stable.

(Burt didn't even try to understand Finn and Rachel- that girl was a hurricane in a tiny, tiny package and if Finn was happy enough to let her fly him around then who was he to judge. He just hoped this year brought them less drama than that whole Quinn-prom thing. Carole seemed to hate that girl with a quiet passion that damn near made Burt's head spin.

He's been well and ready to hate the first boy Kurt ever decided to bring home; some punk with shady looks and ever worse intentions. Burt had suffered from vague nightmares of that kid pulling his boy down the dark road of drugs and lewd behaviour, much to Carole's amusement. Instead of that punk, Kurt had found _Blaine_- who liked football and helped around the kitchen and called Burt 'sir' every night.

Burt had the feeling that trying to hate Blaine was like hating small animals; only crazy people did that. The kid was gold, even if he had the habit of whistling at Kurt's bent form over the engine of car while Burt was _right_ _there_.)

It was a testament to how much they'd grown as a family when, come Saturday morning, Burt found himself opening his front door to the cheeky foreign kid Coach Beiste was harbouring for the year and couldn't place who exactly the boy had come to visit.

"Um, Kurt's upstairs with Blaine and Finn's being pulled out of bed by Rachel to go see some musical thing."

The kid- Harry, his mind supplied hastily- grinned at him. "Oh, I didn't know that Kurt and Finn were your sons. Kurt and Blaine promised to help me find a song."

"You sing?"

Harry pulled a face. "Everyone sings, I'm just not sure I sing _well_."

Burt knew the feeling. "Guess it's a good thing I'm heading out."

"I think it's probably for the best."

Burt felt his mouth twitch as he suppressed a smile. Damnit, what was it about his kid bringing home decent folk? He was beginning to feel like he'd never get to threaten some asshole teenager with an attitude problem.

Well, besides Puckerman and even he knew to behave in this house.

Harry peered around Burt's elbow- Jesus, was there a height requirement going around for new Glee Club members now?- and cleared his throat pointedly.

Right. He wanted to be invited in. Burt frowned, figuring this would be one of the few times he'd get to stretch his papa-bear muscles without Kurt or Carole making those faces at him- ones that made Burt feel like some sort of stuffed animal or something.

"Hang up a minute, kid," he said, crossing his arms for good measure. "I just want to set some things straight here. My house is a hate-free zone."

Harry shot him one of those stuffed animal looks, somehow making it seem kind of respectful. Burt quickly lost all of his puffed-up ire.

"So. No hate. Or I'll know." Christ, he was starting to sound like Kurt.

"Mr. Hummel," Oh, Burt was doomed. Young men with respectful tones were definitely his downfall. "I can assure you that I will never intentionally cause your son or his boyfriend grief over anything, especially their sexual orientation. That would be somewhat hypocritical of me."

What in the hell was he supposed to say to that? Adjusting his hat, Burt gave him a gruff nod. "Kurt's room is the second one on the left. Tell him the door stays open or he loses it."

"I will relay that message immediately," Harry promised as he toed off his sneakers and quickly disappeared upstairs. Two loud, happy voices greeted him, both rambling excitedly about…something.

Burt stood at the foot of the stairs for a minute longer, waiting for some sign of impending doom. Rachel coaxed a dazed, sleep-rumpled Finn down the stairs and into a pair of moderately clean-looking boots, her mouth going a mile a minute as she tried to simultaneously get Finn out the door and tell Burt exactly what their plans were for the day. In great detail.

The door slammed shut behind them as Burt tried to wave goodbye to his step-son. Finn gave him a series of confused blinks through the small row of windows at the side of the door before Rachel bodily shoved him head-first into her tiny, smart car.

"Dad, you're going to be late."

Kurt eyed him suspiciously from the top of the stairs, dressed in a nice pair of jeans and a simple, striped shirt. He'd been doing that a lot more lately; dressing casually and not like his clothes were designer-made combat armour.

Nowadays, Kurt looked relaxed and happy. Burt smiled.

"I'm going, I'm going. I can tell when I'm not wanted."

Kurt rolled his eyes. "Don't even try that with me. You know you're wanted."

"Love you, kiddo."

"Love you too, Dad. That doesn't mean you're getting out of whole-wheat, tofurkey wraps for dinner tonight."

Burt tried not to shudder. Tofurkey was the work of the devil. "Door stays open."

Kurt gave him a more loving version of the stuffed animal look. "So you've said. Repeatedly. Goodbye."

Burt waved him off, stepping out and locking the front door behind him.

Just love him and the rest will sort itself out.

Damnit all, Mollie always had to have the last word.

* * *

><p>Kurt's bedroom looked like something out of a magazine spread, Harry thought with a touch of awe. It was so clean and white and bright and red and neat- like everything had its place and Kurt actually kept it there.<p>

"Kind of intimidating, isn't it?" Blaine asked, grinning widely.

"I feel like if I touch anything I'll leave huge, muddy handprints," Harry confessed absently.

Blaine laughed loudly as Kurt returned from sending his father off into the morning, shutting the door behind them with a smile.

"Your father has threatened to physically remove that door," Harry reminded him, moving to sit gingerly on the pristine, white and red bedding.

Kurt made a dismissive hand movement, as if he truly thought Burt Hummel was all talk. "Stop trying to distract us. Finding the perfect song is an intensive process."

Blaine gave his boyfriend a loving, if somewhat exasperated, look. "We chose my song in less than half an hour."

Kurt didn't seem to appreciate the honesty. "I'm intimately knowledgeable about your voice and its limits. Harry is a blank canvas of possibility."

With a sharp, neat clap Kurt turned towards him and smiled. "Sing us something."

"Now?" Harry's throat tight with nerves as he desperately tried to remember the lyrics and melody of any song. To his horror, only one song seemed to still be slinking around inside his brain.

"_Don't you put it in your mouth, uh-huh, 'till you ask someone you love-"_

A sharp bark of laughter cut the song short as Blaine hunched over and promptly started crying tears of mirth. Kurt's face went through an impressive range of expressions- from mystified to horrified to amused to pained- as he tried to pull Blaine upright and comfort Harry.

"That was…I'm not even sure what that was. What _was_ that, Harry?" he asked, his voice high and tight. Harry rubbed at his eyes under his glasses, fighting embarrassment.

"I kind of blanked on every song I've ever heard. Except for that one. Oh God."

"Maybe we can pick out something easy for you to try," Kurt said awkwardly, still tugging on Blaine's elbow. "Blaine, sit up- I'm beginning to worry about your ability to breathe properly. Oxygen is vital for life."

"Oh, can't he sing that one? Please?" Blaine asked, wiping his eyes. Harry fought the sudden, childish urge to pout as he turned to sit back against the headboard. From the corner of his eye one of the framed pictures on Kurt's bedside table caught his attention.

It was of Kurt in a stylish kilt- yes Harry knew what a kilt was, Seamus had all but throttled the lot of them when Ron had called it a dress at Bill and Fleur's re-wedding. A crown adorned his head as he clutched tightly to Blaine at his right and a sceptre in his left hand. The pose was corny and trite but the expression on both boys' faces was anything but. He couldn't help but think that they looked like someone home from a battle, bruised and hurting but triumphant.

Kurt nudged him in the elbow with the corner of an old iPod, smiling encouragingly. "Try the playlist called 'starters'. It's what I used on Finn when he first joined the Glee Club."

Stuffing one of the tiny headphones into his ear, Harry fumbled with the slick music player for a moment before finding the proper playlist and hitting shuffle.

Blaine stroked the back of Kurt's neck absently, as they waited for Harry to find something he even knew the lyrics to. Harry found himself watching the scene with a small smile, something warm filling him up from the inside as Kurt leaned into the soft touch without too much thought.

Blaine caught his gaze and with a sudden, surprising flush to his cheeks, dropped his hand quickly. Harry shot him a look so full of unimpressed disbelief just as the chorus of the currently play song struck him.

"_Don't let the sun go down on me,"_ he sang, loud and sudden. Kurt jerked back, nearly toppling off the bed in fright. Blaine kept a firm hand on his back as the two of them stared back at Harry's unexpected and inspired performance.

"I really only know the chorus to this one," he said sheepishly, as the second verse kicked in. "Sorry for startling you."

"You've been holding out on us," Blaine accused, pointing a finger in Harry's direction. The whole effect was ruined by the excited gleam in his eyes as Kurt made a shrill, happy noise. "That wasn't bad."

"Okay, okay so maybe you won't be winning any singing competitions with talent we already have in New Directions but you have _promise_ and I know Blaine has the perfect playlist for your kind of voice on his iPod," Kurt said in a business-like tone. His gaze was far away as he made a quick 'give me' motion in Blaine's general direction. "Although, no Elton John. That was an odd choice for you, Harry."

That war-ready, quick-thinking Gryffindor instinct kicked in at that off-hand comment, spurring Harry's mind into planning and his mouth into action. "Because he's British or because he's gay?"

A calm, disturbingly blank smile flitted across Blaine's lips, the kind of professional smiles that celebrities and politicians wore. "As supportive as you've been, Harry not everything about us revolves around our sexuality."

Well, if Harry hadn't felt like an absolute wanker _before_ he certainly did _now_.

"I'm really not trying to do anything more than point out that it's not nice to assume that just because I don't flash my gay membership around the hallways and shoot off glitter cannons while releasing rainbow tie-dyed doves doesn't mean I'm completely straight."

The twin looks of open-mouthed surprise were better than he'd thought they'd take the news. Harry reached out and gently closed both of their mouths with the tips of his pointer fingers. "I'm pre-emptively telling you that I didn't tell you because I honestly don't think who I'm attracted to should matter. However, I've also come to the resigned conclusion that that kind of thinking is horrifically naïve in these parts."

"So you're stepping out of the closet because of a poorly placed Elton John comment?" Kurt asked, looking mildly outraged. Blaine gave his hand a gently pat.

"We did kind of make the assumption that he was straight without simply asking," he pointed out, looking chagrin. "Although, to our credit, I'm not sure there's even a polite way to question someone's sexuality without sounding offensive."

"Technically, no one besides Puck and Santana _have_ actually asked me my sexual preferences," Harry said, eying them both. "Puck pretty much only asked because the other glee members were worried that I was making a move on Blaine."

"Were you?" Kurt didn't look angry or suspicious, giving Blaine a teasing smile. His boyfriend rolled his eyes heavenward before going back to scrolling through his iPod.

Harry found himself grinning in response. "He's handsome enough but certainly not my type. Sorry."

"You really don't believe that?" Kurt asked, looking mildly bewildered. "That everyone has a type?"

Blaine couldn't hold in a small chuckle as he caught Kurt's gaze. "I don't want to know what that says about the two of us."

"Nothing because we really don't actually have types, Blaine," he said crisply.

Harry thought about Cedric and Ginny and Cho- the way they flew and fought and loved the heady rush of competition just as much as he had. He thought about Dave and the inches of leg those soccer shorts had shown off, even from a distance. "I'm pretty sure I have a type. _Obscenely_ sure even."

Falling back onto his bed with an elegance Harry envied, Kurt drummed his fingers idly against his own belly. "I cannot believe my gaydar is so disturbingly wrong. All the time."

"_I_ don't actually believe that people possess an innate ability to identify another person's sexuality on the basis of social behaviour," Harry said lightly, over-emphasizing his British accent.

Kurt cast him a shrewd look. "What's your favourite _Vogue_ cover?"

Harry had absolutely no idea what that was or why Kurt was questioning him as if he were after the national secrets or something. "I don't know what you're talking about right now."

Kurt and Blaine shared a put-upon look. He kind of wished they stop doing that so much. "Worst gay kid ever," they said in unison.

"Okay, offensive much? I thought the two of you were all about breaking down the stereotype and grinding it beneath your sensible heel." Harry asked, crossing his arms. "And I prefer the term bisexual."

Blaine shot Kurt a warning look. "Don't even dare."

"I wasn't going to."

"Uh-huh."

"That was _months_ ago and you know I didn't mean it," Kurt said, his voice raising in frustration as he sat up. "Back when you decided you'd rather date everyone else in Ohio but me."

"I hardly think that Rachel and Jeremiah rate as everyone in Ohio, Kurt."

Harry quickly stepped in between the pair of them, waving his hands as if he could wipe away the sudden tension. Blaine looked defensive and regretful as Kurt crossed his arms and looked small. It kind of amazed Harry how someone as big and- well to use his own words- as fabulous as Kurt could compact himself into something physically timid and uncertain.

"And here they've been telling me the two of you are boring," he said awkwardly as Kurt let out a soft breath and Blaine edged around him.

"I- I didn't think that any of that stuff was a problem," he said his words stalling out softly. "They didn't mean what you did. What you do."

Kurt shrugged gracefully. "As a general rule it doesn't. There's just so much history between everyone in New Directions but especially between Rachel and I. She kept talking about all the songs the two of you could sing together. I hate that, petty as it is." He chuckled weakly. "I still can't listen to 'Don't You Want Me' without wanting to throw something valuable."

Blaine rubbed at the back of his head tiredly. "Will it help if I promise to never voluntarily sing a love song of any kind with her again?"

Kurt smiled and shook his head. "That's _absurd_. We have new assignments nearly every week. Just maybe don't enjoy it so much."

"Just know that I'd rather sing with you."

Harry sighed. "This is truly touching but I kind of have the feeling you've both actually forgotten my presence."

They flushed as Harry waved jauntily at them.

"How about I promise to dazzle Rachel with my mysterious singing ability while the two of you sneak away from her tyrannical glee-club captaincy?"

"You're _so_ mouthy," Blaine quipped, clearing his throat and giving Kurt a look that clearly said he wished they were actually alone. "Let's find Harry a song to sing and kick him out."

Kurt smacked him lightly in the belly.

Several hours into just playing all of Blaine's music library in order after the playlist was a bust- and holy hell, the sheer amount of musical numbers was more than a little intimidating to Harry as Kurt's eyes lit up at a few rather…spirited songs- before a song's slow, melancholy strumming filled the bedroom and Blaine flapped a hand excitedly in the air.

"I think this is the one."

Kurt cocked his head to the side, listening intently. "I'm not sure Harry can pull off that kind of raspy anguish. We'll definitely have to take it down a notch for him pitch-wise."

Harry was already nodding though, his mind focused more on the lyrics than the man's voice. Blaine smiled happily. "We just have to make it impressive enough to get him in but not to threaten anyone else's chances of getting a solo."

"I don't want a solo," Harry said fearfully, snapping out of his song-induced daze. "Get me through this audition and I'll willingly be a stage prop. I'll be a _tree_."

Kurt obviously knew when he was being outvoted. Clicking up his internet browser to find Harry a proper set of lyrics, Kurt made a startled noise.

"Did you know that this guy was the singing voice of _Aladdin_?"

* * *

><p>Monday morning came with a sense of accomplishment, dread and oddly enough, determination.<p>

Harry walked across the parking lot of McKinley armed with a song, a moderately clear conscience and something that resembled a plan. A plan involving Dave Karofsky.

This plan also seemed to involve a dark green sharpie.

The halls were quiet this early in the morning; football practise ran in the afternoons and the weather was still nice enough for everyone to miss the care-free, lazy mornings of summer break.

Despite their tumultuous meeting last week, Harry couldn't help but smile at the sight of Dave, still dressed in his red BullyWhips jacket, standing at his locker as he waited for trouble or Santana. Possibly both at the same time.

With a sly grin, he silently approached the broad back of his prey.

"I've decided that, despite the very vocal portion of the Glee Club, I'm not going to let you avoid me or try to scare me off," Harry said, standing just feet behind Dave.

He watched him jump and smiled.

"Hello, remember me? The short kid you keep following in the shadows like some sort of fashionable, colorblind stalker." He eyed the beret contemplatively. "Possibly even _French_."

Dave frowned, his eyes darting around the hallway for something, anything to let him escape. It was kind of hilarious, kind of sad that Harry could reduce a man that was a whole head taller and about seventy-five pounds heavier than him to this scared mess of a child.

"Ever think that maybe I want to ignore you?'

Harry pretended to think about that before he shook his head. "Hm, no. I think you wish you wanted to ignore me but you can't. I figure I'm saving you the trouble and emotional turmoil by taking the decision out of your hands."

"I'm offering to be your friend," he added at Dave's highly suspicious stare. "Look, even if you smack the whole student population with eternal detentions you're never going to bully the homophobia out of them. You'll still be one half of the group 'protecting the gays'. I really don't see you making a lot of friends this year."

Dave scoffed, rolling his eyes as he tried to look unaffected. "Whatever. It's not like I want friends anyway. This is senior year."

"Everyone wants friends- the need for companionship is all but engrained into our DNA," he replied drolly, because really- a previously popular jock with a history of bullying losers claiming to not want to make any friends made about as much sense as Ron happily welcoming Draco Malfoy into his family. That is to say: _none_.

Dave made a disbelieving noise, as if the thought of them being friends was so far-fetched it was laughable. "Friends share interest. We don't exactly have much in common."

Harry grinned widely at that. "We have sports. I'm thinking of trying out for Track."

Dave rolled his eyes but finally, something a lot like interest peeked back at Harry. "You run?"

"For most of my life," he replied cheekily. "You however, play football and soccer. That means you're strong _and_ you can run. Suddenly we appear to have a common interest."

Dave pressed his lips together, a sure sign that he was repressing a smile, before he gruffly added, "I play hockey too. Come the winter."

"You're a man of many talents." Harry tried not to wince too hard as he automatically slipped into that awkwardly flirty part of the conversation. As a general rule, he didn't do subtle, flirty gestures. He was bad at it and his very Gryffindor-ish nature required that he turn the whole thing into some grand, romantic overture somehow.

When he actually realized that he was attracted to someone and not just hopelessly socially awkward.

"Says that guy trying out for Glee and Track," Dave said, turning to look down the hallway. Harry caught sight of a half-smile in his profile and had to suppress a shout of victory. They were _flirting_- granted it was about as adventurous as watching paint peel but nonetheless, Harry counted it as a pass received and returned.

The second half of his plan suddenly seemed less desperate and much more confidant as he tried not to grin too hard and gestured for Dave's arm. Grand Gryffindor-ish gesture was a go.

"Since we now share a common interest, there's no reason why we can't be friends," he started, sounding frighteningly like Hermione for a moment there. "Friends who talk about things. In person or as luck would have it, on the phone. So give me your arm."

Dave's expression had morphed back into that wary, suspicious scowl of his as Harry made another impatient gesture for his satin-clad arm. "What do you need my damn arm for?"

"Nothing fatal, I promise."

With the look of someone about to shove their hand in a tiger enclosure, Dave relented, shoving his whole arm under Harry nose.

"I don't want to sniff it," he said, quickly pulling the dark green sharpie out of his front pocket and uncapping it. "Just going to give you my mobile number."

Dave watched, silent and looking somewhat fascinated as Harry neatly wrote his number across the clear, smooth skin of his wrist. He blew gently on the skin, smear testing it with him thumb before pulling the cuff back down over the numbers and handing Dave back his arm. "This way you can't accidentally lose or delete it."

"You just- you're insane."

Harry shrugged. "Sanity's a matter of opinion, isn't it? See you at lunch?'

Dave nodded, dropping his eyes to stare down at his wrist as Harry turned away and made his way back to his own locker.

One mission down, one more to go.

Glee Club.

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><p>"Staring at it isn't going to make him call you."<p>

Dave jerked his sleeve down over his palm, leaving his fingers to peek out as he felt Santana try and peer over the top of his shoulder. "Where in the hell have you been all morning?"

"Nowhere near as busy as you, big boy," she said with a smirk. "Picking up another man's digits- you are _such_ a whore."

"Seriously, Santana, it's not like that," Dave snapped, closing his locker with a bit too much force. Why did she always have to make it sound….like _that_? "He wants to be my friend. We're…friends."

It sounded weak, even to his own ears.

Santana's dark gaze caught his as she tried to lean up and get in his face. She smelled sharp and spicy, a scent that reminded him of his own mother for some reason. Either way, it was an instant attraction killer.

"Yeah, you're just friends. And Brittany and I weren't fucking for nearly all of sophomore year."

"And we all saw how well that turned out."

Dave felt like an asshole as soon as his mouth clicked shut. Santana looked away from him, her mouth set in a steely line and Jesus, what kind of loser made a girl look like that?

"Sorry," he muttered, rubbing the back of his neck as they waited for an early-morning freshman to amble on down the hallway. "It just pisses me off when you say shit like that when you know I'm not, I'm not…"

"Coming out?"

Dave seriously hated those two words. They didn't seem big enough, heavy enough, scary enough to even begin to represent everything they did. "Especially to the Straight Champion of Gays."

Santana snorted, the noise loud and unladylike. "I'm only telling you this because, seriously, who would you even tell. Harry's well, I guess you could say he bats part-time for your team."

Dave kind of understood that it was meant to be a meaningful sports metaphor but the comparison was muddy as all hell. "What? How do you bat part-time? Is he injured?"

"I'm starting to think _you_ might be injured," she said seriously, giving him a dark look. "He's into boys _and_ girls, Tank. He's having his pie and eating it too."

Dave kind of wanted to point out that if pie were girls than Harry could be eating both pie and cake but Santana was giving him her expectant look, like maybe Dave was supposed to break out into a song or something. "Okay."

The glare she shot his way could have melted the lockers behind him. "Okay, I'm going to put this into small and simple words for your steroid-decayed brain to understand. Although he may be tiny enough to go and live with the Keebler Elves, Harry is a guy. He's a hot guy that's into other guys sometimes and writing his phone number on your arm is flirting in _any_ language."

Dave couldn't help but try and look at the green numbers he knew were written neatly across his wrist if he just moved back the cuff of his jacket. The skin there felt tight and tingled, as if he could still feel the way Harry's thumb had swept across the dried markings to make sure they wouldn't smear.

"I gotta go…" he said suddenly, shoving his hand into his pocket. He couldn't deal with this- he was gay but that didn't have to mean that he had to _be_ gay. Not here, not when he was so close to getting out.

"I'll let Harry know- message received," Santana called after him, like some strange Jiminy Cricket.

And there went Dave's whole childhood.

* * *

><p>Harry was starting to wonder if he had been over-prepared for public school.<p>

His classes were engaging, for the most part, but there was a decided lack of enthusiasm from the staff about anything they were teaching and that apathy was reflected back by their students.

It was like being stuck in a Dementor Tornado of 'Don't Give A Shit'. Harry made a mental note to ask Hermione if it was against the Statue of Secrecy to use a Pepper-Up Potion between classes.

"You know, if you were a girl and if I was actually into Dave? We'd totally be having a smackdown right now."

"It was my mobile number, we're friends now," Harry said without turning around. He was honestly going to check for a track device one of these days. Seriously.

Santana glared a few Juniors out of her way, sidling up to Harry with that same smug smirk on her face. "I legit just had this convo with Karofsky this morning. Same words and all. You're going to be one of those unbearably sweet couples that finish each other's sentences aren't you?"

Harry eyed her casually. "I thought you'd take my intentions towards your boyfriend with a bit more screaming and threats of bodily harm. You almost seem to be _anticipating_ this- should I be worried?"

She shrugged. "I figured I'd try and butter you up before I let it slip that I totally outted you to Davey-boy this morning. Watch him avoid you like the plague, Tiny Tot."

Harry stopped still and furious in the middle of the hallway, lunch forgotten. "Thanks a lot, Santana. You've been absolutely useless."

"Last I checked? It's so not my job to make this easy on you."

"Maybe if you put half as much effort into winning over Brittany, you'd actually be happy," Harry hissed, feeling vicious.

Santana didn't back down, jerking her head back with all the attitude of a pissed off cobra. "Britt only wants to be with me if I'm out, Potter. You and Hummel and Hobbit might be ready to jump off that cliff but some of us aren't."

"So you've said."

"You think you could deal with being Dave's dirty little secret? Sneaking around like you're not seeing each other? Pretending it doesn't piss you off when someone else flirts with him?"

Harry took a deep, calming breath. He got it, really; Santana was projecting and protecting Dave from the situation she found herself in. While she got along just fine with Harry, they weren't friends of any real sort. Not yet anyway. She had no reason to trust him or his character.

"Look, I'm going to be honest with you- I'm attracted to him. I have no idea if it'll even become more than that or even if he's in the same boat. All I do know is that the _both_ of you could use a friend who isn't scrambling for you to come out. Do I think you'd be happier if you did? Yes, but I'm not naïve enough to not know that sometimes it'll suck. Sometimes you'll probably wish you hadn't. _I get it_."

Santana almost looked uncomfortable at his abrupt speech, her eyes darting around the semi-crowded hallway before she muttered, "we're always freaking talking about gay shit. You need a hobby."

"I'd have a hobby we could talk about if you'd let me get to lunch so that I won't embarrass myself too much at my audition," Harry pointed out, exasperated. "Nothing says public humiliation more than fainting on a stage."

"Food is for the weak."

"It's also for those who don't wish to die," Harry said, catching sight of Kurt walking down the hall towards them. Santana gave him a mock-salute before fixing her beret.

"I leave you to frolic with your kind. Go with glitter, ladies."

"She knew?" Kurt asked, his tone implying he was wondering less about the fact that Santana knew Harry's sexuality and more about what in the world had actually possessed Harry to tell her.

"I told you- she asked."

Kurt shook his head as if displacing that little thought-fly from his perfectly styled hair. "Never mind, I'm not sure I even want to know. I just wanted to tell you that Sam's going to be playing for your audition. I was going to blackmail Puck into doing it but Mercedes thought that was a waste of good leverage and asked Sam instead. I honestly don't know how they think they're being subtle."

Harry frowned, trying to place everyone's names and face. "Sam and Mercedes are the ones who are secretly dating, right?"

"At least since Nationals," Kurt confirmed, even though Harry had no idea what Nationals was supposed to represent. "Blaine likes to think they fell in love during Junior Prom but well, I don't think anyone fell in love during Junior Prom. I think a lot of people fell _out_ of love."

"That seems to be par for the course for the Glee Club."

"Oh you have no idea. I think Tina and Mike are even working on a booklet to help you assimilate into the ranks," Kurt said, seriously. Harry wasn't all that surprised once he'd thought about it.

Lunch period swiftly devolved into Harry trying to eat a soggy ham and cheese sandwich while thirteen people simultaneously tried to give him singing advice. Harry pretended to have a pressing guidance counsellor meeting when _Artie_ offered to show him some 'sweet dance moves'.

Sam shook a handful of sheet music in his direction as they passed each other in the hallway, shooting Harry a wide grin and an overly-enthusiastic thumbs up. He tried to smile back as the bell rang and the afternoon classes began.

Time seemed to speed up and inch by all at once as the trickling, cold feeling of anxiousness pooled in Harry's belly. Before he could blink English class turned into a hot, heavy spotlight shining down on his face in the auditorium.

"You okay?" Sam asked, fiddling with the strings on his guitar. "You look super pale right now."

"If I throw up and pass out, will you at least put me in the recovery position so that I don't also choke on my own vomit and die?" Harry asked desperately.

"Sure," Sam said slowly, giving him the same look Harry had seen Mercedes shoot Rachel and Finn more than a few times over the last week. The one that said 'you are damn full of crazy and you better hope it ain't catching'.

"Whenever you're ready, Harry," Mr. Schuester said with what was supposed to be a friendly smile. Harry mostly felt like the Glee Club's only adult supervisor was about as in charge of things as the actual members of New Directions let him think. The real test would be if they let him in, not if Mr. Schue said he was good enough.

"Um, okay," Words, he could really use actual words right now. "I just want to say that I _know_ I'm not the world's most talented singer- I was politely informed of that right away so I'm really not expecting anyone to, you know, feel like I'm here for that."

Rachel looked decidedly unimpressed, crossing her arms with a huff.

"I'm not even all that knowledgeable when it comes to music. I think the last song I've heard was possibly by the Spice Girls." It wasn't that bad of a lie; he couldn't actually tell a group of muggles that Mrs. Weasley had played 'A Cauldron Full of Hot, Strong Love' on repeat for days before Harry, Ron and Hermione left the country. "I'd really just be content to show up, sing in the background and let you guys have all the fun."

A couple of sympathetic glances were shared as Harry's nerves seemed to be getting the best of him. Mr. Schue tapped the top of the desk with his pen. "What will you be singing?"

"It's called _Once_," he said swiftly, gripping the microphone stand. "The Brad Caleb Kane version."

"Sweet," Puck said with relish. Kurt gave him a look, arched eyebrow and all. "Dude, I know his music. He writes for _Fringe_."

"If we can continue?" Rachel asked, flipping her hair back over her shoulder with a frown.

Harry took a deep, steadying breath before giving Sam a sharp nod. The low, melancholy strum of the guitar filled the air, echoing easily out into the seating area. Harry tapped his fingers against the side of the microphone, trying frantically to remember not only all of the lyrics but the tune, the timing and every hint of advice Kurt and Blaine had imparted onto him.

With another calming breath and a little bit of courage, Harry opened his mouth and sang, "_you change in front of me, your eyes get darker everyday."_

To the casual listener, the song sounded like the desperate apologises of a man dealing with a loved one in the tight grip of addiction. There was guilt in the strum of tightly wound strings and the rasp of a deep voice. Harry closed his eyes and let himself relate to that feeling of knowing you were letting someone down and-to the opposite- of knowing you're fighting with something dark, deep down inside yourself.

"_Once I was real, once I was somebody's child." _

Harry certainly felt a bit like he knew what it meant to want to feel real, especially once he'd learned the truth of how his parents had died. Harry Potter, The Boy Who Lived, The Chosen One- they all felt like things people needed him to become, not the person he innately was.

The feeling only seemed to increase with the end of Voldemort; somehow, Harry still felt like he was waiting to be real.

"_Once I appear, I will be real once again."_

Sam finished playing the last note with a bit of a flourish and a grin, giving Harry another quick thumbs up as he peeked over at him. Blaine and Kurt were clapping excitedly- almost embarrassingly over-excitedly in Kurt's case- as the rest of the club joined in, sharing an unreadable look or two.

Mr. Schuester put his hand up, as if he could actually halt the show of support with nothing more than a hand gesture. Puck defied him casually, letting out a sharp whistle and giving Lauren a serious fist bump.

"Guys, settle down- guys!" Mr. Schue said, turning in his chair to stare at the rowdy group behind him. "Come on, we have to at least talk about this."

"What's to talk about?" Rachel asked, looking somewhat mutinous. "It certainly wasn't horrible by any standards but don't you think we have more than enough mediocre singers to carry us through?"

"Are you seriously trying to turn down someone who _won't_ fight you for a solo?" Tina asked her out-right. "If we're going to kick out _mediocre _voices then more than Harry wouldn't be in Glee Club right now."

"Oh, Ambiguous-Sexuality Asian has claws," Santana drawls, eagerly leaning forward in her seat.

"If we're getting rid of people based on vocal talent, we're going to have to get rid of people on the basis of dance ability- which isn't exactly your strongest suit either Rachel," Kurt pointed out, his voice high and cold.

"Have I somehow managed to offend Rachel?" Harry asked Sam as the rest of the club descended into what looked like a lot of shouting, hair-flicking and sassy hand gestures.

"It isn't Glee Club if Rachel doesn't tell us all how she's the star and we couldn't possibly match her level of sheer talent at least a dozen times," he replied strumming lazily on his guitar. "I don't get how she can feel so threatened when she's pretty much gotten every solo she's ever wanted. Mr. Schue hands them to her and Finn like there aren't half a dozen other people itching to try out for it."

"So it's really just…"

"Rachel being Rachel. I think she legitimately will cease to exist if there isn't drama happening somewhere within a five mile radius of her person. Like a theatrical Pink Slime or something."

Finally, Mr. Schue held up his hands and tried to settle down the rowdy teenagers. Harry had to wonder where in the world this man's head was half the time.

"Guys, calm down- I thought we were done with all this fighting last year." Mr. Schue gave them the most ridiculously put-upon pout Harry had ever seen on the face of someone above seven years old. Their adult supervisor was literally an overgrown man-child.

"Now, I know it wasn't a perfect audition," Mr. Schue said firmly, turning to address Harry as well. "It seemed like maybe you're a bit nervous about being in the spotlight."

He also seemed to be a master at stating the bloody obvious if the eye rolls from the students behind his back were any sign.

"You need to work on your breath control and how to stay on pitch better," Rachel said, steamrolling right over Mr. Schue. "You have to be willing to work on these problems and I don't think you're committed enough to this club to really do that."

"_You'd_ know all about proper breath control," Quinn said, her voice high and falsely sweet.

Rachel frowned. "Of course, seeing as I've been training my voice for years to become the perfect showcase for my talent-" Sam snorted, hunching his shoulders as he tried not to laugh too hard. "You can hardly expect for me to put up with this kind of-"

"I'm pretty sure Quinn meant that you just don't ever stop talking," Artie said with a frown. He pushed his glasses back up to the bridge of his nose as Rachel sent him a chilling look. "Just saying, yo. You kinda gave us the perfect example right now."

"I don't think it's fair to say Harry's not committed when over half of us have been in other school clubs," Mercedes said with a frown. "Most of the guys are still on the football team."

"We can make him Prom Queen," Brittany said suddenly, perking up. "Like Kurt, only without the shiny crown. I have paper and scented markers for the ballots."

"All those in favour of letting Harry join Homo Splosion and share an invisi-crown with Hummel?" Santana asked, raising her own hand. Everyone followed suit with the exception of Rachel, who also jerked Finn's hand back down.

"Looks like he's in," she said with a smug smile.

"As co-captain of the Glee Club-" Rachel began only to have Kurt shush her.

"It doesn't count if your captaincy is self-proclaimed, sweetheart," he said with a clearly unimpressed look. "Mr. Schue, are you going to make it official?"

Harry watched as the teacher eyed Rachel's expression for a moment longer before he turned towards the stage and said, "Welcome to New Directions."

* * *

><p>Notes: Finally, some flirting between Dave and Harry! It only took forty thousand words! Things should hopefully pick up a bit more between them now that they've got the 'we're friend!' excuse.<p>

Things to address: Firstly, Rachel's drama there at the end of the update is really just her start-of-the-year insecurity. She's kind of ridiculously forward and territorial on the show, especially when it comes to her place in the Glee Club. The thing people love to hate about Rachel is that she not only expects everyone to be as committed to New Directions as she is, she demands it. She'll calm down once she sees that Harry isn't a threat nor he is someone who'll let them down.

Next, Harry's singing ability. I know it's a trite and ridiculous theme in HP/Glee crossovers to have Harry burst out as this amazing singer and I really, really want to stress that while Harry does possess some talent in that area here, he is not the best New Directions has to offer. He's aware of it, almost to the point of not being aware of the talent he does have- it's typical Harry, in my opinion. He suffers from a dislike of public speaking and a thriving lack of confidence in himself when it comes to be talented at anything besides not dying and Quidditch. However, his dancing ability in the books is said to be pretty poor and that is staying. He'll bond with Finn and Sam over their inability to get their groove-thangs on. It'll be good for him.

Next, I am working on a few other stories that may be getting posted soon, so don't fret and think that this is going to inhibit my time to continue this story. I've put way too much into this idea and this parting to just drop it at a moment's notice. The next few stories are, if anyone's interested in knowing, a Glee!AU about werewolves (so much world-building to be done here, oh God) and a post-Deathly Hallows Harry/Draco story that is sad as all hell. Let's just say that Harry doesn't walk away from dying twice with nothing to show for it.

Lastly, I really want to say that this story is in no way a treaty on, I don't even know...gay rights/opinions/life? My views or those expressed on the show aren't right or better than anyone else's and being gay doesn't make someone the all-knowing guru on how to actually be gay. Take, for example, what a lot of fandom called Kurt's biphobia. As a bisexual person, I wasn't nearly as offended as half of the straight people I know (possibly because Kurt has dated the only bisexual on the show right now, so he's not unaware of the existence of bisexuals so much as he was pretty freaking terrified that Rachel was taking another boy he loved and hurt that Blaine would rather date Rachel Berry than try anything with him. Poor Penguin.) but I have to admit that I really don't get some of the ways my community seems to fight homophobia. So if Harry, Kurt and Blaine seem to be struggling it's because I think that everyone who is out and proud at that age seems to not really know their place- at what point are they being too sensitive or that person who isn't just gay but seems to always be thrusting the good fight into every conversation.

On the reverse side of things, let's just say I have a keen insight to why Santana and Dave would want to cling to their closets just a little bit longer despite knowing that being out would be a weight off their shoulders. It's scary, being that vulnerable to hatred and sometimes it really doesn't seem worth it.

Okay, long slightly awkward and probably offensive word vomit is over. Thanks for everyone who is still reading and/or reviewing. I love reading everyone's thoughts and speculations on what will happen. Does it help to know that I've already written Dave coming out to someone, Dave/Harry's first kiss and something of an argument between Harry and Blaine?


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